Disclaimer; I don't own any of Chuck Palanuik's characters. And I'm not getting paid. (*sob*)

Author's Note: Hay kiddas! Two updates in one day! Wow! I can't even begin to descrive how ridiculously happy I am that I've actually finished this! As well as Chapter 3 of Miles High it's unbelievable haha! So guys this has got a lot of slash in, more than my other Fight Club one has so you have been warned! I hope you guys like it...

Paper Street Soap Company. Tyler Durden. I flip the business card over in my hand.
Front.
Back.
Front.
Do I call?
Back.
Front.
Back.
What would I say?
Front.
Back.
Front.
I pick up the receiver and dial the number.
As it rings I look out of the murky telephone box glass at the smouldering wreckage of my life: the yin and yang coffee table, the fridge with the machine that crushes your ice. Before I know it the echoes of the final dial tone fade in my ear and the line goes dead. I can't even drive to a hotel because my stand-alone lamp has speared my front windshield.
I start as the phone rings and hesitate a second before reaching for the receiver and taking a deep breath.
"Hello?"

*

It's been a month, a month of murky water and peeling wallpaper. A month of everything swelling when it rained, a month of snagging my elbow or my heel on a rusty nail and wondering if I'd caught Aids yet. But after a month I don't mind about having no hot water, or washing my clothes with a toothbrush. After a month I don't even wash my clothes at all.I'm sat on the rickety wooden chair in the kitchen, perpendicular to the splintered table in the middle of the room, watching Tyler eat cereal out of a Tupperware box. In deep interest I watch as each sugary death coated toasted marshmallow is sucked in to the pink cavern of Tyler's perfect mouth. A drop of milk turned green by the colouring escapes the corner of his lips and makes a bid for freedom down his chin. Before I can stop myself I've reached over and swiped it off with my thumb, bringing it to my own slightly parted lips and licking it off. Tyler looks at me, this look I can't pinpoint in his eyes, and suddenly he's taken my thumb out of my mouth and ran his hand to my cheek pulling me closer until his lips are hovering over mine. A shiver runs through my spine as he captures my lips in a soft, long kiss.
As good at kissing Tyler is I know this kiss is wrong, it's just too…soft. I mean I'm kissing Tyler Durden for fuck's sake not some girl who needs looking after. So I decide to take control, I open my mouth a little and bite his lower lip, hard.
"Ow!" he murmurs a hand yanking at my hair.
"Sorry, you taste so sweet I must have mistaken your lip for a lucky charm," I smile, smug with my suaveness.
"Fucker, you want it aggressive?" I feel his lips stretch into a grin against mine and warning bells go off in my head, "Well I'll show you aggressive alright."
I moan as his teeth come into contact with the base of my throat, nipping, tugging, licking and sucking at my skin until I know it's going to leave a mark. I hear the Tupperware scutter across the table and crash to the floor and I open my eyes to see Tyler crawling across the table, looking as sexy as a porn star, shedding his dressing gown like a snake shedding it's skin and he straddles my legs, completely naked, and at that point I know I'm about to be fucked by Tyler Durden.

I smile with pride when Tyler moans again, my hand slowly working up and down his cock, my thumb swiping over the head, sliding precome down his length. His head snaps back and my name escapes his lips in the sexiest, most huskiest voice I've ever heard and it takes almost all of my effort not to come right there and then. He grabs my hand and gently takes it away from his erection and gets up tugging me behind him. His grip on my wrist is tight and I wince in pain at the pressure. But I don't care. Because if you were being led up to your bedroom by the sexiest, most dangerous man alive, you wouldn't give a shit either.

*

After a month I decide fucking Tyler makes me fight better. Every week is a victory dance of flying fists and knuckles crunching nose cartilage, pirouettes of broken teeth and split lips, because every night I get Tyler's beautiful cock up my ass or down my throat, and no one else does.
Who needs Swedish furniture when you have the best sex imaginable?
I'd found perfection. And it was ironic that perfection was in the form of the same person who so vehemently believed it didn't exist.

A/N: Please review it makes me happy. :)