The body hit the mat, and Van was on his feet in an instant, cheering as the fighter didn't get back up.  Five fights into the first Championship event, his throat was shredded from cheering.  Adrenaline was singing through his veins, his muscles twitching as he flopped back in his seat.

Signaling one of the waitresses walking through the aisles, he passed her a twenty and ordered a beer and water.  "You can keep the change if you get them here before the next fight," he added with a wink.  He had to shout to hear himself over the rest of the crowd and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

She smiled and walked away, and he wasn't sure if she'd understood.  Shrugging, he popped his back and tried to get comfortable.  The seats were surprisingly plush, but he'd been sitting for a long time.

The venue was huge.  He'd been there before dozens of times, but this was the first time he'd seen it set up for a fight.  The ring and announcer's box took up less space than the giant speakers and stage of a concert, and the room was packed to the brim.  This close to the ring, it smelled of clean sweat and leather with the occasional whiff of cigars drifting over from somewhere to his right.

The announcer climbed up into the ring, and Van craned his head for the waitress.  To his surprise, she was picking her way down the steps toward him.  Twenty bucks well spent.

The next fight was the last of the night, and the one everyone was talking about.  When the announcer cleared his throat, a hush fell over the room.  From the back corner, someone started to chant, and soon others picked it up.

"Eli. Eli. Eli. Eli."

The chanting was so loud that even the speakers couldn't keep up, and the announcer gave up on saying anything with a shrug.  Gesturing to the fighter's entrance, he sketched a sardonic bow.

Van caught a single glimpse of deep brown skin and a flash of gold before the whole room exploded into motion.  Everyone was on their feet, screaming and cheering, pushing closer to the man who had just walked in.  Caught in the momentum, he ended up at the edge of the aisle when the enormous man came striding up to the ring.

At first, Van couldn’t drag his eyes away from the tight curls on top of Eli's head.  The man was a giant, tall enough to make Van feel small, and at least twice as wide across the shoulders.  His eyes caught on the man’s wide chest, already glistening with sweat.  Following the deeply defined lines of muscle down to his chiseled stomach, he licked his lips.  Peeking out from over the top of the gaudy gold Championship belt was the cutest little belly button he'd ever seen.  On him the belt would have been oversized, but it fit Eli's proportions like a glove.

Van dragged his eye back up before he could follow that glistening belt down to the guy's crotch, fanning himself in the suddenly sweltering air.  All the fighters had been built, especially the two heavyweights who'd just finished, but there was something about Eli Thompson that just begged for Van to stare.

The fight coordinators were herding everyone back to their seats, and Van had to look away when Eli bent to slide under the ropes.  That was definitely the ass of a Champion.  Shaking himself from his daze, he drifted back to his chair and settled on the edge of his seat.  His beer and water were tucked out of the way underneath it.  He slugged back half the beer in one go, grateful that it was still icy cold.

With the crowd calmed down enough that the announcer could almost be heard, the opponent was called in to a smattering of boos.  Van missed the guy's name, but it sounded Russian.  Up in the ring, Eli paused in the middle of taking off the belt and frowned at the crowd.  The booing died down, and a handful of people applauded.

The challenger was an even match for Thompson in height and weight, another bear of a man who stood head and shoulders over the promoter escorting him down the ramp.  Where Eli looked like the angel of body builders though, the Russian had a face that had been beaten in one too many times.

The pair faced each other across the ring, their greetings surprisingly friendly as they bumped gloves and smiled around their mouth guards.

As soon as the bell rang though, both men were all business.

Van would be the first to admit that he enjoyed boxing.  He bought the fights on pay-per-view a couple times a year, and sometimes he and Solomon flew to New York to see one in person.  He was not, however, previously aware of how sensual boxing could be.

Eli's muscles clenched and relaxed as he ducked and dodged, punches that should have landed easily on his wide shoulders swung past his body which was suddenly somewhere else.  The veins on his arms stood out like rivers through rich soil, throwing shadows over rock hard biceps and triceps.  He punched like a freight train, the bruises blooming on the Russian's fairer skin even as the crowd watched, holding its collective breath.

Van was lost in another world, his mouth hanging open as he focused all of his attention on the slide of skin and blood and bone in front of him.  When the bell went off again, it was like coming up out of a spell, waking up from a hundred years of sleep.  He blinked and realized that he'd been gripping his beer bottle hard enough to make his fingers ache.  He drained the rest of it and set it down to roll around on the ground, unwilling to look away from the ring.

Thompson was draped over the ropes, talking to a petite Hispanic woman who was glaring daggers up at him.  She put one hand on her hip and stuck her finger against his forehead, pushing him back into the ring.  He went without any effort on her part, smiling sheepishly.  He had dimples in his right cheek Van couldn't help but notice; two of them, deep and delicious looking.

The fighters faced each other again, the Russian looking worse for wear but still smiling.  They tapped gloves and stepped back.

Van's chest burned, and he forced himself to breathe.

The bell rang.

Thompson danced across the mat, ducking and dodging and grinning so that those two dimples shone with collected sweat.  It was an incongruous picture, the Russian swinging his fists and hitting air or arm while Eli kept his guard up and didn't seem at all interested in throwing a punch.

There was a rhythm there, and Van could feel it deep in his bones; a music in the thrumming heartbeat of the crowd; the bounce of Thompson's heels across the mats.  It sucked him down into the moment, time slowing to a crawl.

Eli missed a beat and the moment shattered.  His heels came down off rhythm, and he ducked when he should have dodged.  The Russian got him in the ribs with a hard right thrust and the crowd gasped.  Thompson just grinned harder, laughing through his mouth guard.  He drew back his fist, and the Russian zipped back out of reach, faster than any human that size should have been.

Eli was faster.

His fist connected with the Russian's unprotected jaw, causing his head to snap back.  The moment held for three beats of Van's racing heart.  Someone screamed.  The Russian crumpled to the mats, out cold.

"K.O!" the announcer shouted into the silence.  "We have a winner."

The crowd went nuts.  Van was swept off his feet as the mass of bodies rushed the ring.  He took an elbow to the ribs and got rope burn across his cheek from being shoved into the padded sidewall.  People were screaming, crying, cheering.  Money was changing hands, being dropped on the floor, being flung at the ring.

In the middle of it all, Van tilted his head back and Eli Thompson was right there, one arm caught by the announcer, waving in the air.  The other was dragging the Russian to his feet and steadying him as he swayed.  He spat out his mouth guard and ripped off his gloves with his teeth, which was sexier than he’d thought possible.  Waving to the cheering crowd, he said something to the Russian that made him smile and knock their heads together.

Van's gut clenched, which he blamed on dehydration.

It took sixteen officers to make a path for Thompson and the Russian out of the venue.  Van was stuck watching as they headed out the opposite side of the auditorium, pinned against the ropes by a group of twenty-somethings in khakis who had had about six more drinks each than they should have.  Once the Champ was gone though, the crowd started to flow out the doors, and Van found himself swept up in yet another press of bodies.

As they filed out of the auditorium, the air was still thick with excitement, the younger guys in front of Van punching shoulders and mock boxing as they reenacted the fight with drunken imprecision.  They were all laughing and talking at the top of their lungs, trying to get their voice to carry over all the others.

The venue lobby was packed, even breathing room was at a premium as people stopped in the middle of the flow of traffic and clogged the doors.  Van was almost past the tiny alcove before he even noticed it was there.  He barely managed to wade through the bodies to that island of stillness without having to pull his badge.

There was a cleaning closet tucked away behind a potted plant that explained the existence of his haven, and he propped himself up against the corner to wait for everything to die down.  Vegas traffic was no joke on a regular day, but a night like that, he'd be sitting in the parking lot for an hour at least.

Van grimaced.  "Next time, I'm taking a cab," he muttered.

A lot of people seemed to have a similar idea, hanging around in clumps and gesturing wildly as they talked about the matches.  He was surprised to see people trickling in too, parents with sleepy children tucked in strollers and over their shoulders.  Out of sight somewhere, a kid screamed and two of the children on their way in echoed it like night birds sighting prey.

It wasn't just babies though.  There were older kids like the chubby little boy pulling an older woman through the doors by one arm.  She had her face buried in her phone as he screeched excitedly about all the promo posters on the walls.  Van laughed as she nodded and let him drag her from one side of the lobby to the other with a resigned smile.

"Harris?  What are you doing here?"

Van turned from where he was scanning the crowd automatically and grinned.  "Wilson, man.  How'd you get stuck with security duty?"

"Drew the short straw.  You here to see the fights?"

"Ringside seat," Van said, clapping the other man on the shoulder.  "Courtesy of Sacramento.  You get to see any of it?"

"Here and there."  Wilson's walkie-talkie went off, the burst of static almost inaudible in all the noise bouncing around the lobby.  It was a general check-in, and they both ignored it.  "I got to see that last one though."

"What more do you want?  That fight was legendary."  Van could feel his pulse pick up just thinking about it.  "I've never actually seen a K.O. in person before."

Wilson's lips twitched.  "It was pretty fucking spectacular," he agreed.  "Never would have believed the guy was an omega if he hadn't confirmed it.  The way he throws a punch, I wouldn't have figured it was possible."

Van's eyes went up.  "He's an omega?"

Wilson shrugged.  "Guess so.  He's a good guy.  Greets all of us on security by name."

From one side of the room, there was a rumble of excitement and Van turned to look reflexively, his hand going to his hip.  A big door to one side had swung open, and security was clearing a small patch.

"I'd better get over there," Wilson said.  "You want an autograph?  I can get you to the front of the line."

Van shook his head.  "I got an all access pass and a day off for the next fight.  I can snag some then."

"Lucky bastard," Wilson said without heat as he waded into the crowd.

Chuckling under his breath, Van leaned against the wall and watched the fans slowly being herded into something resembling an orderly line.  He didn't envy the guys working today; security detail was the worst.

So the Champ was an omega.  Van hummed thoughtfully and resisted the urge to adjust himself.  There was enough testosterone in the air to excuse a stray erection, but he had a feeling a quick touch would just make the situation worse.  It didn't stop him from thinking about the curve of the boxer's ass in those thin shorts.  He ignored the voice that told him he was too old to be lusting after every pretty body that wandered by.

There weren't many omegas in sports, even though it was technically allowed.  There were even fewer in a sport like boxing where the body took so much punishment.  It was good that someone like Thompson was out there paving the way for the next generation.

As if summoned up by his thoughts, the crowd started cheering as Eli strode out, smiling and waving.  He'd changed into a pair of tailored slacks and a tight fitting t-shirt, the enormous Championship belt settled comfortably low on his hips.  The line of his pecs was clearly visible under the soft cotton, and Van traced them with his eyes.

He was so busy following the line of that trim waist that he didn't notice the Russian stepping out behind Eli until the guy passed between them.  The crowd didn't seem to know what to do with the situation, falling silent for a moment.  The Russian didn't look very comfortable either, holding an ice pack to his bruised jaw and staring out from under heavy brows.

"I want to thank everyone for coming," Eli said into the hush.  "I hope you enjoyed the match as much as Alexei and I did."  His voice was even deeper than Van had expected, carrying easily over the crowd.

"He doesn't look like he enjoyed it," one of the kids said, slipping through the line of security to stare up at the Russian.  He couldn't tell at that distance if it was a boy or a girl, hair cut short and a silver roller derby jacket slung over thin shoulders.

The crowd tittered nervously, and the Russian glared at Eli.  The other boxer smiled and nudged him with his elbow, but Alexei didn't budge.

Eli shrugged, crouching down to the child's level.  "His face is stuck like that," he said, smiling wider when Alexei growled loud enough to be heard throughout the room.  "I like your jacket.  Do you go roller-skating?"  The kid nodded, still staring up at the Russian with their hands on their hips.  "You ever fall over?"

"Duh," the kid said, glancing back at the crowd when they laughed.

Keeping his attention on his little fan, Eli nodded.  "It's kind of like that.  Alexei got bruised, but sometimes you have to get bruised to get better.  He's not really hurt."

"When sport is played," Alexei said, speaking carefully so that the fans could understand him through his thick accent, "sometimes you lose.  I very much like to test my skill against Eli because he is the best.  Every time we dance, I get better, and maybe someday, I do not lose."  He smiled, showing off a mouth full of crooked and cracked teeth.

The kid seemed to consider this answer for a moment, then reached up to pat him on the leg.  "I like you, Mister.  Will you sign my jacket?"

"I would be honored," Alexei said seriously, and the crowd laughed.

After that, it was much less formal, people crowding around to get pictures and laughing as Eli obligingly lifted child after child into the air with one massive arm.  Security seemed to be working to get the kids through the line first; within ten minutes, the number of children had dwindled.  The few that were left were dozing off, eyelids drooping.

As the lobby began to empty out, Van ventured closer, nodding to Wilson and a couple of the other guys who were holding the perimeter.

"Eli, this one has a gift for you," Alexei said, hefting a sleepy toddler with a grimace.  Even at a distance, Van could see that the baby's diaper was sagging.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," a short, pudgy man said, wringing his hands.  "I can take him back.  I didn't realize his diaper was full."

"Aw, how sweet.  And here I thought that smell was just you," Eli teased, scooping the baby out of Alexei's arms and cuddling him up against his broad chest.  "He doesn't shower," he added in a stage whisper to a dyed and pierced teenager who was next in line.  The boy stared at him in shock, a giggle escaping before he could force his face back into disinterested lines.

Straightening to his full height, the Russian turned to Eli and glowered.  "In Russia," he said, with complete seriousness, "we shower in blizzards.  No snow in Las Vegas, no shower.  Is rule."

Van chuckled as Eli threw his head back and laughed, earning a sleepy complaint from the baby against his chest.  He immediately quieted, shushing the laughing crowd, then patting the baby on the back and doing a little swaying dance.  "Did you want a picture," he asked the man.  "Or did you want to change him first?"

"I don't know," Van muttered under his breath.  "Seems like it'd be perfect first date blackmail material if he leaves it like that."

His voice must have carried better than he realized because both boxers laughed, turning to look at him.

"You've got a point there, man," Eli said, his eyes flicking over Van's chest.

Resisting the urge to breathe in deep enough to stretch the buttons on his shirt, Van smiled.  "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt.  I think my hearing is still out from the cheering."

Alexei grimaced.  "Ear plugs are great invention."

"Yeah, we wear them for all the fights," Eli said, cheerfully.  "Protects the eardrums against bad hits too."

"I'll just get the picture, I don't want to take up any more of your time," the man said, wringing his hands.

"There's no rush.  I'll be out here after all the other fights too if you want to get another picture then," Eli said, pulling him in to stand with them.  "Hey, Fisher, can you take a picture of us?"

Fisher nodded, stepping forward to take the high-end smartphone, and Eli grinned for the picture.  Afterward, he helped settle the baby into the stroller and shook the father's hand.

"Have a great night, sir," he said as they walked away.

Van wandered over to where Wilson was standing and watched the boxers interact with their fans.

"It's always like this," Wilson said out of nowhere a few minutes later.  When Van glanced at him, he continued. "The fans.  We had to assign twice as many security positions for him because he goes out and talks to the fans so much.  He likes them.  Especially the kids."

"He's good with them," Van said, shrugging.  His voice must still have been pitched loud, because Eli jerked around, staring at the pair of them.  "Sorry," Van added, rubbing at his ears.  Now that it was getting quieter, he was starting to notice that they were ringing.

Eli turned back to the fan he'd been talking to, but his ears and cheeks flushed red.  A few minutes later, he glanced back toward them, his eyes sliding slowly up Van's body.  When their eyes met, he held the look for a moment before turning around, his lips stretched in a small smile.

Shortly after that, Alexei excused himself.  The crowd had thinned, only the die-hard fans left, but Eli showed no sign of being tired.  He smiled and laughed with each person like they were the only one there, and he never hurried them along.  It was impressive.

"You really ought to get yourself some ear plugs, man."

Van glanced up, realizing he'd been rubbing his ears again.  Eli was watching him, his brow furrowed.

"I think we've got some in the back," he added, thoughtfully.  "They've got the logo on them, but they work okay."

"I think I'll be alright tonight, but I'll definitely bring some for next time."  The crowd was mostly gone, and the security team had dispersed to lock the venue down for the night.

"Don't get the cheap ones," Eli warned, wandering closer.  "They tear too easy, and you can get them stuck in your ear."

"Thanks for the recommendation."  Van's eyes drifted over Eli's chest again, and he dragged them away only to catch the boxer staring at his arms.  Remembering the blush he'd gotten earlier, Van smirked.  "You're really good with those kids.  I wouldn't have half that much patience."

Startled, Eli met his eyes for a moment before they slid away, and he rubbed his neck.  "Thanks."  He stared at the marker in his hand as if he'd never seen it before.  "Hey, did you want a signature?" he asked, holding it up like a shield.

"I don't have anything you can sign right now," Van said, regretfully.

Eli frowned.  "This marker works on skin," he said.

Van's eyebrows flew up, and he couldn't help the smirk that stretched his lips.  "Is that so?"

Eli blinked, his eyes widening as he realized what he'd said.  "I mean, I signed some guy's arm so he could get a tattoo the other day," he stammered, his eyes dipping to Van's waistline.

Crossing his arms, Van propped his shoulders against the wall and spread his legs a little wider.  Eli coughed and ducked his head, but Van could see him stealing another look through his eyelashes.  "I don't know... I'd have to undo some buttons if you wanted to sign skin."  He paused for a moment, then added.  "Long sleeves, you know."

"Yeah," Eli said, his eyes sliding over Van's arms like a caress.  "You definitely have plenty of real estate though."  His ears were visibly red under his dark skin, but he met Van's eyes this time.

"More than enough," Van said with a wink.  In the back of his mind, a little voice was asking what he thought he was doing, but he ignored it.  Flirting wasn't his forte, but he was sure as hell going to try.  "But I think I'll pass this time.  Maybe next match I'll buy a poster or something."

"You're coming to the next match?"  Eli perked up, his dimples peeking out.

"I've got ringside seats," Van said, "an all-access pass."  He drew the word out, letting his eyes linger on Eli's abs.  "What exactly does all-access entail, anyway?"

Eli frowned.  "Didn't they tell you when you bought it?"

Laughing, he shook his head.  "This is Vegas.  I won it in a poker game."

"That makes a lot more sense," Eli said, and Van blinked.  Shaking his head, Eli continued quickly, "There are meet and greets before the matches.  They have a pretty nice spread, cash bar and discounted merchandise."

"Man, I should have come earlier this time.  I'm starving."  As if on cue, Van's stomach growled, and they both chuckled.

"What kind of food do you like?" Eli asked, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Anything with meat," he said, letting his eyes linger on the big gold circle of the Championship belt.

"The buffet is still open, but I don't recommend it after nine.  They stop putting out as much," Eli said, stumbling a little.  He wasn't the Champ for nothing though, and he slogged doggedly on.  "There's a steakhouse around the corner that's good."

"Does it have your personal seal of approval?" Van asked.  He wasn't sure if they were still flirting or not, but food sounded like a great idea either way.

"It's one of my favorites," Eli said, shifting his stance so that his hips stuck forward more, making the belt buckle catch the light.

Van narrowed his eyes, and Eli smiled.  Okay, so they were still flirting.  Van could work with that.  "Would you care to join me?  My treat."

Eli paused, a surprised smile spreading over his face as he let his eyes drift over Van's form.  The dimples in his cheek were no less distracting now that they had been in the ring, and Van had the sudden desire to lick them.

"I..."  Eli paused, his eyes drifting past Van and his smile faded.  "No, thank you.  I'll get some room service later."

Following Eli's glance, Van didn't see anything that would have triggered the change.  Maybe they hadn't been flirting after all.  "I guess your diet must be pretty strict," he said, giving the other man an out.  "I've heard it's tough to look that good."

"Not really," Eli said, frowning a little. "I've just always been big."  He paused and bit his lip.  Glancing at Van out of the corner of his eye, he swallowed.  "Some guys find it intimidating."

There were rules, apparently.  Van thought about Lion and the dozens of requirements his publicist had for his dates.  Dinner was out, but flirting was in.  It wasn't an ideal arrangement, but Van wasn't the one calling the shots here.

Putting on a smile, he caught Eli's eye and then gave him a thorough once over.  "I'll bet.  You look pretty proportional.  I can't imagine you're not big all over."

Eli's eyes dipped again, and he licked his lips.  "Big enough..."  He scrubbed a hand over his short hair.  "Did you still... Are you still thinking about heading to dinner?"

"Eli."

They both turned as the tiny Hispanic woman from before stepped out of the access hallway.  She was watching Van with fire in her eyes.

"Natalie..."  Eli sighed, putting on a smile that didn't reach his eyes.  "I guess I'd better go.  It was nice to meet you."  He held out his hand and Van took it, holding longer than he should have.  Eli didn't seem to mind, his grip staying comfortably firm.

Natalie cleared her throat.

"Right.  Coming."

"If only," Van said, caressing the back of Eli's hand as he pulled back.  Eli shivered but flashed him a regretful smile as he walked away.

Watching the two of them go, Van dragged his eyes away from Eli's ass and smiled.  He had a plan.  It only took him a minute to find Wilson swigging coffee with a group of guys.

"Hey Wilson," Van said as he walked up to them.  "How'd you like to get off security detail?"