WHAM
The edges of my vision blurred and turned white. The hand was small – when I saw it wrapped around my cock less than an hour later, the word "dainty" would pop into my head, despite the bruised and bloody knuckles – but it almost floored me as it smashed into my right temple. The crowd, gathered around us in a circle, cheered and hollered. I stumbled back towards my "corner", reeling from the combination of the impact, rum, whiskey, and the aftereffects of the last nitrous hit. Dan caught my shoulder and ineffectually poured water onto my face, not even trying to aim for my mouth – also swollen and bleeding. Mark threaded an arm under my other shoulder and hoisted me upright, placing a hand on my chest.
"Come on, champ", fully in character, he affected a decent cockney whine. "You're floating like a fucking butterfly out there! Here…" He dabbed at my face with the ripped remains of my t-shirt. "You've gotta get in there and do some damage!"
I chuckled and coughed. "Isn't that a line from Snatch? Are you seriously being Jason Statham right now?" He patted my cheeks and fed me a measure of rum, which stung like a bitch.