First Bell, First Clue? - Laxia(D) vs. Bandita

[Letta]

The core muscles Laxia had forged through years of horseback riding had carried her through countless jolts and impacts without surrendering her balance. Yet even she could not hide the bewilderment spreading across her face in the wake of Bandita’s perfect counter. It was difficult to believe this was the same woman who had been twisting the luchadora with such haughty composure only moments earlier. More than anything, the fact that the very same hold had been returned to her in kind stung sharply at Laxia’s pride. And the forbidden thrill she had believed belonged to her alone was now returning to her in full. Bandita’s lean, toned thigh slid along Laxia’s fuller one. It may have been nothing more than a small adjustment for balance and control, but the sensation brushing along the inside of her thigh made Laxia’s body tremble on instinct. A sound unbefitting a noblewoman threatened to slip between her lips. She bit down hard on her quivering lower lip, barely managing to suppress it.

“Haaah... I suppose.. the evaluation is a little fairer now..”

She tried to preserve some semblance of ease, but her expression was already markedly different from before. Only the faintest trace of a smile remained at the corner of her mouth, while her ragged breathing and mounting exhaustion could no longer be fully concealed. Her aristocratic pride and elegance had always served as armor, an aura that discouraged others from approaching her too carelessly. But cracks had already begun to spread across that armor. Bandita drew her leg back and twisted through the shoulders, forcing Laxia’s waist and side into an even harsher angle.

“AAAAAAHH...!”

In that moment, there was no dignity, no pride, no flawless expression left to preserve. What crossed Laxia’s face was pure agony. Her blue eyes flew wide, her brows twisted deeply, and her lips parted before she had any chance to restrain the scream. Her entire body shook violently within Bandita’s grasp. The flexibility she had cultivated through years of ballet protected her body from being damaged too easily. But flexibility did not mean freedom from pain. If anything, the fact that she could bend farther merely allowed Bandita to force her into an even deeper angle. She carried the obstinate pride inherited from her ancestors. Even if she lost consciousness, she would not lower her head, nor willingly acknowledge defeat with her own hand. And yet, somewhere in the deepest part of her heart, she almost wished Bandita would finish her with some other technique. Remaining trapped like this, forced to let her opponent feel every response her body betrayed, was nearly unbearable.

At first, she thought Bandita was merely adjusting the pressure of the hold. The palm spread across Laxia’s abdomen added a little more force each time she exhaled, slowly gliding downward in time with the movement of her taut muscles. The warmth began across her upper abdominals, passed over the clearly defined ridges beneath her skin, and finally settled over her navel. The movement was far too slow and meticulous to be strictly necessary for maintaining the technique. Laxia’s breathing faltered. Her body was already twisted wide within the abdominal stretch, but she knew that tiny disturbance had not come from pain alone. Each time Bandita’s palm traced the contours of her abdominal muscles, Laxia could not shake the feeling that she was not merely being restrained. She was being carefully observed.

Only moments earlier, Laxia had been the one reading her opponent through the palm of her hand. Now it was Bandita’s turn. Each time Laxia exhaled, the tension in her stomach softened by degrees, and the palm covering it seemed to press a little harder in response. Bandita’s touch itself was not unpleasant. That was precisely the problem. The luchadora’s hand wandered slowly across the noblewoman’s abdomen without resistance, while Laxia remained helpless to stop every contraction and tremor from revealing itself beneath her palm. That helplessness sent heat rushing into Laxia’s face. The hold twisted her body with almost savage force, yet the hand following the contours of her abs moved with striking care. The contradiction between those sensations clouded Laxia’s thoughts. She could no longer clearly distinguish pain from embarrassment. Just as Bandita had spent the entire match pulling and pushing her off balance, constantly defying expectation, the sensations she created refused to be defined in any single way. The sweet, breathless voice beside her ear. The fingers delicately brushing across her abdomen. The merciless force bending her waist from behind. The thrill stirred by those fingertips and the trembling forced upon her by the hold had merged into one, sending confused tremors through Laxia’s body.

“You’re.. really built..” Laxia’s blue eyes widened at the words whispered near her ear. More unsettling than the compliment itself was the complete absence of mockery in Bandita’s voice. She meant it. Bandita was disarmingly sincere, yet lethally dangerous the moment one underestimated her. For Laxia, accustomed to wolfish villains who announced their malice openly, she represented an entirely unfamiliar kind of threat—one that was stealing her heart before she could recognize the danger. How could a bandit be so sweet? In Laxia’s otherwise predictable life, Bandita always seemed to provide the opposite of whatever she expected. Like the whip she had cracked during her entrance, she jolted Laxia awake whenever her guard slipped. She was exciting. And, much as Laxia hated to admit it, dangerously addictive. You are younger than me. Smaller than me.. and yet you dare evaluate me... “More.. sleek, I guess.” Sleek...! Heat returned to Laxia’s face. The impudent little bandit. Yet she did not truly dislike the compliment. Knowing Bandita regarded her body that way was deeply embarrassing, but it also stirred a strange satisfaction somewhere within her. Before Laxia could protest even in her thoughts, Bandita twisted through her upper body and forced her frame wider still.

“GAAAAHH....!!”

Her exposed abdomen stretched taut to its limit. The defined muscles contracted and loosened with each ragged breath, and every tiny shift traveled directly into Bandita’s palm. There was no hiding it, no matter how composed Laxia pretended to be. She had applied this hold herself, and knew better than anyone exactly what Bandita must be feeling through their point of contact. “Just.. letting you know it’s about to get worse!” Laxia’s eyes narrowed. Worse? She had already believed it impossible for the pain to become any greater. “Wh....” As she exhaled, the last breath she had been clinging to escaped in a short gasp. Bandita seized the moment without hesitation. Her palm pressed hard over Laxia’s navel. Her fingers spread wide and dug deeply into the outer edge of the taut abdominal muscles, while her thumb clamped firmly against the opposite side. The remaining air was forcibly driven from Laxia’s stomach.

“Kyaaaaaaaah....!!”

A piercing shriek tore through the arena. Where the abdominal stretch pulled her waist and side long with a sensation like being torn apart, the newly added stomach claw crushed directly into the exposed, tightly stretched muscles. Each deeply embedded finger seemed to seize a different point and grind it apart. When Laxia tightened her abs, the hardening muscles only pressed more distinctly into Bandita’s fingers. But when she relaxed in order to breathe, those fingertips sank even deeper. She had to tense in order to endure. But the more she tensed, the worse it became. She had to relax in order to breathe. But the moment she did, Bandita’s hand clamped down with even greater cruelty. There was no choice that offered escape from the pain. That contradiction completely destroyed Laxia’s breathing.

“Ahh... ahn... nnngh...!”

Her restrained body writhed violently, her waist locked in Bandita’s punishing angle while her entangled legs trembled beneath her. Every instinctive effort to escape only dragged her abdomen and side tighter across the hold, increasing the friction against the luchadora pressed behind her and deepening the pain. Laxia’s free hand flew to her stomach and closed around Bandita’s wrist, but with one arm captured and her legs bound, she had neither the leverage nor the strength to tear it away. She could only cling to it and tremble, whether to pry the hand loose, keep the fingers from digging deeper, or simply find something to hold amid the agony, even she could not tell.

The referee crouched beside her and asked whether she wished to submit. Laxia lacked the breath to answer, but she squeezed her tear-bright eyes shut and shook her head firmly. Once. Then again. Her disheveled orange hair swept across her cheek, yet her grip on Bandita’s wrist did not loosen. Despair had begun to shadow her expression, but it was not surrender. Only short, broken breaths escaped her parted lips. Beneath Bandita’s palm, her abs hardened whenever she tried to hold her breath, then softened the instant she was forced to exhale. Every contraction, tremor, and faltering breath passed directly into the luchadora’s hand, just as Laxia had read Bandita moments earlier, only now with even greater clarity. Camera flashes erupted around them.

Only moments before, Laxia had been the one holding Bandita in elegant control, chin lifted toward the cameras. Now she was displayed before the crowd in perfect reversal: one arm drawn long over her shoulder, her legs trapped with the luchadora’s, her waist twisted near its limit, and her exposed abdomen trembling beneath Bandita’s hand. Her perfect posture. Her composed smile. The flawless dignity she had fought to preserve. Pain was stripping each of them away. And the luchadora who had endured with smiles, jokes, and relentless ingenuity now held Laxia entirely in her own fashion. To break an opponent at her brightest, yet still desire that she endure until the very end, Laxia could finally understand that contradiction. Understanding it, however, did nothing to lessen the pain.

With another ragged breath, her abdomen contracted hard beneath Bandita’s palm. The muscles stood out sharply around the places where her fingers had dug in, and Laxia’s entire body gave another small tremor. Her own fingers tightened further around Bandita’s wrist. She could not push it away. But neither could she let go. The thing Laxia had called the privilege of the one holding the advantage only moments before.. That privilege now belonged entirely to Bandita.

[CyanDimitrik]

There comes a time in a match when it becomes clear that one side or the other is dead to rights. It takes a bit of experience to recognize it, particularly because it requires being able to feel a rival's body against yours; to feel the moment that body is fully trapped, or gives out. Bandita has felt it many times in her years in the ring, after coming to recognize the sensation. She's even been the one whose body has surrendered to the onslaught, or can simply no longer fend off whatever hold her opponent has her in.

In those moments, one of three things can happen. If the body has given out, the pin surely follows. An uncontested three-count, one girl stretched out dominantly across the other. If the person is trapped and they can't escape, tapping out is the only option to end the suffering - a quick moment of humiliation to swallow for the sake of surviving the night, an unfortunate necessity and tacit acceptance one takes when entering the ring. But the third - if the person knows they're caught but refuses to submit.. they hold on until they're forced unconscious or injured. They drag it out. They make the audience watch them squirm, writhe, scream, and cry.

Bandita is very comfortably in control now. The moment the hand grabbed onto her wrist was the moment she knew she had her. She just knew it. Had Laxia the strength to protect her stomach, she'd be dragging the hand away. But she doesn't. She has the will to do it, but no longer does she have that ability. Bandita can remain exactly like this, the heat of their bodies locked together a thrilling point of excitement and giving her every incentive to remain. And ultimately, Laxia would either try to endure the pain until she actually began sobbing, or she passed out.

She couldn't know it for sure. But she knew it. With every breath she felt pushing the girl's stomach tight against her palm, every flex of her fingers spiking in and crushing the abdominal muscles, keeping her waistline contorted sideways and backwards, she knew that all she had to do was remain exactly like this. And that would be the end of it. The noblewoman, so refined and elegant, so confident, reduced to ashes.

Bandita's head tilts, lips parted and chest gently heaving with every labored breath, and she casts her gaze onto Laxia's face. She doesn't expect the other girl to look back at her in this moment. But she's watching her. She's watching the anguished look on her face as she clings to hope, as she shakes her head as the referee continues asking her to tap out. To signal her submission to the rogue now binding her.

This should be everything she wants. It's a statement of a win. And any time she can win, it brings stability to her family. It makes sure they'll survive this very sudden upheaval of their lives. So why is she so conflicted?

The fingers ease up on the abdominals. Her hand continues to rest against her stomach, but the claw has officially ended - no more lancing pain directed fully into the belly. The twist at the waist eases a little, not fully relaxing yet, but providing some relief to Laxia's figure. Bandita's gaze drops, guilty - whether to her family or to herself, she can't be sure. But in her heart, she doesn't want to ruin anyone. And this feels dangerously at risk of doing that to her rival. This rival she's spent the match admiring, no less.

Laxia will have to tap out to someone. Maybe her later on down the road. Maybe someone else. But she's not going to make her suffer that embarrassment. Not on her debut. And whether or not Laxia can figure out that she's being shown some kind of mercy... Bandita won't make it her problem. She just hopes she can forgive her for not giving her her absolute best when the opportunity arose to finish her off.

She decides to try to play it off.

"Think I prefer you on your back!," she suddenly calls down to the ginger. "It'll make better pictures!"

Unlike, you know, the absolute keeper of a photo of Laxia's pain-stricken body tangled with Bandita's confident, vicious figure, ripping into her abdomen. No, Bandita will always have that to enjoy.

The leg detangles from Laxia's, her thigh brushing against her again just where the leg meets the hip. She ducks under Laxia's arm to free the limb, and instead sets her newly freed hand behind Laxia's shoulder. It's the hand on the girl's stomach that's the last to move, lingering considerably longer there on her midsection than would be necessary. Conspicuously so. With it, she's drawing Laxia back to rest against her, now at her full height.

Bandita pants several hard breaths, her breasts nestled behind her shoulders, her hand sliding down from Laxia's shoulderblade to her upper arm, where it then gently squeezes. Her head turns just slightly, either bringing her nose to faintly brush the back of her head, or if Laxia's head has tipped back in resting, her sweaty cheek brushing against the ginger's.

Hips turn, arms pull, and Bandita draws her aside - only to finally fling her towards the far ropes. She doesn't expect her to fall down on the way, but it wouldn't necessarily surprise her. What she hopes for, however, is for her to rebound back. Bandita races after her to pause mid-ring, legs spreading, hands raised ready to receive her for a surprising powerslam!

[Letta]

Laxia could do little but wait for the hellish hold to end. At first, she believed enduring would be enough. If she clenched her teeth and forced her body to last, Bandita would eventually release her or transition into something else. But with every passing second, that certainty weakened. All she had to do was nod to the referee. Or move the hand clutching Bandita’s wrist to the canvas and tap a few times. Then the pain would stop. That simple truth circled relentlessly through her mind. Submission, buried beneath layers of pride, crept closer with every breath forced from her lungs. And Bandita must have felt all of it.

The way Laxia’s abs hardened as she tried to endure. The way they softened whenever she was forced to breathe. The way her fingers weakened around Bandita’s wrist, only to tighten again through sheer stubbornness. Just as Laxia had read the luchadora through her palm moments earlier, Bandita could now feel every flicker of hesitation passing through her. Then, just as the flame of resistance inside Laxia began to gutter dangerously low.. The crushing pressure disappeared.

“Haaaah....!”

Laxia dragged in a ragged breath like someone breaking through the surface after being held underwater. Bandita’s hand remained upon her abdomen, but the fingers digging into her tortured muscles had finally relaxed. The savage angle twisting her waist and side eased with them. The sudden relief only left Laxia weaker. A hot, constricted sound rose in her throat, perilously close to a sob. She pressed her trembling lips together and forced it down. Whatever happened, she would not let Bandita hear her cry. As the tension left her body, her legs threatened to buckle. It was Bandita who kept her upright. Feeling an arm support her shoulder and a body brace her from behind, Laxia’s blue eyes shifted with fresh bewilderment. Why... release me now? Bandita could have finished her. Laxia knew it better than anyone. A few more seconds might have driven her to tap. And if her pride still refused, she might simply have lost consciousness in the luchadora’s grasp. Yet Bandita had let her go. A possibility rose unbidden, sending fresh heat into Laxia’s face.

Did she... take pity on me? The thought struck her pride more sharply than the pain. Humiliation and resentment flared inside her chest. But Laxia quickly rejected the conclusion. This was Bandita, the woman who had spent the match answering every expectation with its opposite, turning every lapse in attention into some new and inexplicable danger. Releasing the hold might not have been mercy. Perhaps she merely intended to finish Laxia more spectacularly, or guide her weakened body into another trap. That explanation dulled the suspicion, though it could not erase it.

Bandita’s hand had lingered upon her stomach far longer than necessary. And when Laxia’s exhausted body tipped backward, the faint brush of the luchadora’s cheek against her own left a question she could not dismiss. “It’ll make better pictures!” Laxia’s eyes narrowed faintly. Of course... The rogue had not released her out of kindness. She was merely preparing her next strike, one meant to finish Laxia in a more flamboyant and unexpected fashion. Bandita turned her hips, pulled through Laxia’s arm, and hurled her toward the far ropes. Laxia’s boots struck the canvas in rapid, uneven succession. Her balance was failing from the first step.

Her waist still throbbed as though the abdominal stretch had never released her, while every breath sent the lingering pain of the stomach claw biting through her abdomen. She was not so much running as being carried forward by Bandita’s momentum. Even so, Laxia raised her head. Through the haze clouding her vision, she saw Bandita waiting near the center of the ring with her legs spread and both arms raised to receive her. The intention was unmistakable. If Laxia allowed herself to be caught, it would truly be over.

For one fleeting instant, she remembered the pressure disappearing from her abdomen, and the hand that had lingered there afterward. Whether it had been mercy, hesitation, or merely another of Bandita’s inexplicable whims, she still could not tell. But Bandita had given her room to breathe. And Laxia would not waste it. If you meant to finish me, Bandita... you should never have given me that chance. Her back struck the ropes, their tension bowing around her battered frame. The impact stretched her abdomen again, sending pain across her waist and washing her vision white. “Khh...!”

A broken groan escaped her. Then the ropes launched her back toward the center of the ring. Laxia did not resist the rebound. She surrendered herself to it. There was no strength left in her legs to overpower Bandita, no energy for a high, graceful leap, and too little control to evade the arms waiting to seize her. That left her with only one weapon: the speed already carrying her forward. Laxia gathered what little strength remained and drove her boots into the canvas. It was nothing like her usual effortless ascent. Her exhausted body barely left the mat. Her abused waist screamed in protest, and her abdomen clenched before she even began to descend. The jump lacked its usual height, elegance, and precision.

But she refused to pull back. Suspended in the air, Laxia forced her body straight and thrust both legs forward with every fragment of strength she still possessed. She had aimed for Bandita’s chest. But her battered body could no longer carry her as high as intended. Instead, both ring boots aimed into Bandita’s tightly toned abdomen...!

[CyanDimitrik]

Even Bandita couldn't really wrap her head around why she did it. And she knew, she knew, being shown that kind of mercy might drive a hot spike of resentment into her rival. What's a girl to do when on one hand, she might be the instrument of humiliation and shame, and on the other hand, may lose any shot she might've had with her? Worst case scenario, she hurts the noblewoman's pride so deeply that she hangs up the boots and never enters the ring again! She couldn't let that happen! She wouldn't!

Wait, did she just think about having a shot with this girl?

The thought is momentarily distracting, the realization arresting. Dios mio, is she crushing on her? But she's-- her! And she's a she! And- she's coming in awfully fast.

Bandita's focus snaps to the fore again, spotting the advancing speed. "Ah--!" Her footing shifts, sliding the left boot back to prepare for a defensive posture. She's read the intention correctly. And when Laxia pops into the air in that telltale formation, she knows precisely what the battered girl is intent on doing. Her forearms cross defensively from chest to chin, remembering sorely where that last kick connected.

She didn't anticipate the damage she'd done to her causing the kick to go lower.

Suddenly, a pair of boots blast into her unprotected midsection like a cannonball. The abdominal muscles yield around her dainty feet, Bandita's body folding inwards, eyes instantly widened and all semblance of breath or voice is violently ejected from her mouth. She's knocked clean off her boots, hitting the mat in a hard tumble that evolves into a frantic, agonized writhe on the mat. Her arms wrap around her midsection, eyes squeezed shut, and she rolls from back to side, then facedown in a ball, toes kicking helplessly against the ring. She drops onto her side again, where she finally sucks in a gasp of air, but remains contracted and curled up.

She can't even force her eyes open yet. She's just enduring the blow for now, the full weight and momentum of Laxia coming to a singular point in the pit of her stomach.

[Letta]

Both ring boots slammed squarely into Bandita’s tightly toned abdomen. The instant they struck home, Laxia lost all control of her fall. The collision hurled her backward, sending her crashing across the canvas on her back and shoulder as one arm folded protectively over her tortured midsection.

“Ghh……!”

A strangled gasp tore from her lips. Even her own counterattack had punished the body Bandita had already driven so close to its limit. It was no longer the elegant dropkick of a noblewoman in perfect control. It was a desperate strike launched with the final embers of a spirit that had nearly been extinguished. But Laxia had struck back. Only then did the roar of the audience reach her ears. Forcing one blue eye open, Laxia saw Bandita curled across the mat, both arms wrapped tightly around her stomach while her helpless kicks scraped against the canvas. The luchadora had read the dropkick and raised her forearms to protect her chest and face. What she had failed to anticipate was that the damage she herself had inflicted would lower Laxia’s trajectory.

Bandita had prepared for Laxia’s precision. She had not prepared for her imperfection. Laxia could still feel the moment her boots struck. The firm resistance of Bandita’s trained abs seeming to give way for an instant beneath the concentrated force of both feet She had no idea how much strength the luchadora still possessed. But Bandita was hurt, and Laxia had no intention of wasting the brief opening before her. She planted both palms against the mat and began crawling toward her. There was none of her usual poise in the movement. Her waist throbbed with every shift of her knees, while her damaged abdomen tightened painfully whenever she reached forward. Yet the growing roar of the crowd drove her onward.

“Think I prefer you on your back!” Bandita’s own words returned to her as Laxia reached the curled luchadora. Placing one hand against her shoulder and the other near her hip, she firmly rolled Bandita onto her back, exposing the toned abdomen still tightening around every labored breath. Laxia lowered herself over her fallen opponent. Under better circumstances, she might have hooked a leg and secured a tighter cover. But exhaustion had stripped away even that much precision. All she could do was let her battered body collapse crosswise over Bandita’s, pressing her greater weight down across the smaller luchadora’s torso.

“As you said... *pant* this suits you better.”

Their waists aligned as Laxia settled over her, abdomen pressing directly against abdomen. She lowered her hips and spread her weight across Bandita’s upper body, using what remained of her strength simply to keep both shoulders against the mat. The position brought with it an unexpected closeness. Through their joined midsections, Laxia could feel each shallow breath Bandita managed to draw. The luchadora’s stomach expanded faintly beneath hers, then tightened again around the lingering pain of the dropkick. Tiny tremors of recovery passed directly between them. And with every one, a dangerous hope stirred inside Laxia.

I can win....!

The referee dropped beside them and struck the canvas.

“ONE.....!”

As the count began, a thrill surged through Laxia’s exhausted body, briefly drowning out the pain and fatigue. She pressed herself more firmly over Bandita, clinging to that fragile possibility with everything she had left.

[CyanDimitrik]

By the time Laxia has crawled to her, Camille has rolled facedown again. Well, more or less facedown. Her knees are tucked beneath herself, doubling up on the arms holding her midsection. An occasional shudder or spasm wracks her slender frame, issuing a choked wheeze from her. Her face turns, burying her cheek into the mat.

In the back of her mind, she knows she's a sitting duck. But she can't uncurl yet. That kick drilled too deep, too hard, when she hadn't had a chance to tighten to absorb the impact. It was practically like a double foot stomp nailing her in the abdomen, if only marginally better. She didn't have anywhere to go, any ability to uncurl yet.

It's only when she's finally spared a single hand to paw against the mat that she feels a hand on her shoulder. The other hand touches her hip. And just like that, she knows what's about to happen, and she's powerless to stop it. Bandita is easily rolled onto her side, then the rest of the way flat onto her back. Her arms fall open, leaving her body and aching abdominals open. Laxia crosses over her, and Bandita lets her eyes shut, resigning herself to this moment.

How it got to this point, she can only blame herself. She let Laxia out of that submission hold to spare her her dignity. And now, Laxia's body can be oppressively felt hovering over her. Yet there's a thrill to it. Laxia isn't composed and aloof anymore. This is her, raw. Determined. Nothing driving her but her own will. And she's about to lie over her to position herself as the dominant woman between them. Even with the intensely aching midsection, her heart begins to race for a different reason. Her left heel scoots against the mat, knee steepling almost in offering to her; in anticipation to feel her body against her.

When it arrives, it does not disappoint. The feel of Laxia's stomach crossing Bandita's is a rush, causing the girl to gasp weakly. Both abdomens, battered and beaten, one lying over the other as a clear and physical sign of dominance. Bare skin against bare skin, tired abdominal muscles pressing in against tired abdominal muscles.

Bandita's right arm flops low, settling her hand along the back of Laxia's thigh, just beneath her hips. The left arm similarly flops, this one coming to rest behind her shoulder. Every breath is softly shuddered, her abs erratically tensing and flexing in the continuing aftershocks of the kiss - and partly in reaction to feeling herself pinned by Laxia like this.

She feels the referee drop beside the pair. It's the only other weighty object in the ring other than the two of them. What else could it be?

It's a salty reminder that she needs to win this. She needs to break this pin. But there's no strength in her body yet. The idea of clenching her midsection and curling in to throw Laxia off seems like a sardonic joke. She slides the hand from Laxia's thigh upwards to her back, passing along the curve of her rear before coming to a stop again. There's pressure at that point, an effort to force the ginger off of her, but to no avail.

"ONE!"

The hand slaps the mat close to Bandita's head. "Ungh..." Two more seconds, and this could be over. She could give up fighting. She could relish the feel of Laxia's body over hers for however long it might last, trying to memorize the feel of her skin, her breathing into her, the feel of being pinned down by her in that raw state. She could let it all go. It's tempting. Her body wants her to do it. Even her heart is aching for her to accept it.

Her waist squirms weakly beneath Laxia's, accomplishing nothing but a little friction.

"TWO!"

She can't just lie there and accept it, though. Her family has to still matter, even when so much inside of her wants her to stay laying on her back. And Laxia herself wouldn't want to pin someone who just let it happen. She owes it to her family to fight back with everything she has, and to Laxia! And to herself! Her own career! She didn't get in the ring to be a nobody, or even a midcarder! She got into the ring because this is her heart!

"Nngghh'aah!," she cries out.

The referee's hand was half-way to the mat for the third strike when she caught sight of Bandita's shoulder raised inches off the mat. Her right arm had dramatically reached for the sky, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in post-cry. She's tilts just slightly under Laxia's stomach, not nearly enough to roll over, and not nearly enough to throw her off. The moment that shoulder drops, she might fall back into another three-count.

"TWO-COUNT! NO FALL! WRESTLE!"

"Haah... haah.."

Uneven, panting breaths. Bandita's arm lowers slowly until it comes to rest across Laxia's back. Her own back is arched, pressing her muscled midsection against the other girl's, just enough to keep her shoulder elevated.

"I.. I think.. you'll.. look better.. under me..," she says between breaths. "A-and.. I'm gonna.. win.. your respect.. princesa..."

[Letta]

Bandita squirmed weakly beneath Laxia’s abdomen. The abs still trembling from the dropkick pressed more firmly into Laxia’s own, creating a brief, heated friction between them. Yet the movement was far from an explosive escape. There was not even enough strength behind it to force Laxia away. Bandita’s hand slowly slid along the back of Laxia’s thigh. Beginning just beneath her hips, the touch followed the rounded curve of her rear before finally coming to rest against her back. Laxia could tell that Bandita was trying to push her away.

But there was no strength in that hand. The realization sent a thrilling sense of conquest through Laxia’s chest. She had Bandita beneath her. The luchadora who had proven so impossible to predict was trapped under her body, pinned to the mat by her greater weight. Even the reactions traveling through their joined abdomens felt nothing like determined resistance. The irregular trembling of Bandita’s muscles. The weak lift of her waist before it lost strength again. Movements that seemed caught between the need to push Laxia away and the temptation to remain exactly where she was.

Laxia felt all of it directly through her body. For a moment, she could already see her victory. The roar of the crowd as she rose above the defeated Bandita. The glorious image of her triumphing over such a formidable opponent. The vision seemed almost close enough to touch..

“TWO...!”

The referee’s hand stopped in midair before its third descent. One of Bandita’s shoulders had lifted from the mat. The movement wasn’t nearly strong enough to dislodge Laxia’s body. But raising one shoulder by only a few inches was all she needed.

“TWO-COUNT! NO FALL!”

The vision of victory filling Laxia’s mind shattered in an instant.

“Tch....!”

She rolled from Bandita’s body and dropped into a seated position beside her. Their joined abdomens slowly separated, taking the lingering warmth and tremors between them along with them. Laxia drove a fist into the canvas. Breathing heavily, she swept her sweat-dampened orange hair back with her other hand. Her blue eyes, twisted with frustration, remained fixed upon the mat for several moments.

And yet, somewhere beneath that frustration, a strange sense of relief began to stir. Had the match truly ended with that pin, the suspicion that Bandita had taken pity on her would not have disappeared. It might instead have taken root and grown until it swallowed even the satisfaction of victory. An opportunity granted through mercy. A victory earned from that opportunity. How could she proudly carry the Roswell name while burdened by such doubt? But the fact that she was entertaining those thoughts at all only deepened Laxia’s humiliation.

Throughout the match, Bandita had toyed endlessly with both her body and her heart. She blurred Laxia’s focus with sweet words, then stole her balance with attacks she never saw coming. She inflicted pain, only to withdraw her hand without warning, leaving Laxia constantly questioning whether each baffling action had been mercy, playfulness, or something else entirely.

And Laxia had allowed herself to be swept along by all of it. Wondering why Bandita had not finished her. Searching for hidden meaning in every touch. Even now, questioning whether the luchadora had simply allowed herself to be pinned. Laxia despised herself for it.

Enough.

Bandita’s arm slowly lowered across Laxia’s back. There was still a comforting warmth in that touch. Even the way Bandita had held her while their abdomens remained pressed together had not been entirely unpleasant. And that was precisely why Laxia sharply cast the arm aside. A heart so easily shaken was only dragging her further from victory. Her blue eyes cooled into steely resolve, as though vowing never again to let Bandita toy with her emotions.


Bandita continued between uneven breaths. “Enough...!” The very mention of respect was enough for Laxia’s voice to cut sharply through the air. Even while trapped on the defensive and barely able to breathe, Bandita refused to stop joking and provoking her. It was becoming almost infuriating. Still trying to unsettle her. “My respect is... not so easily won.” For a while, neither woman could move from the canvas. Laxia was the first to rise.

She planted one knee beneath herself and pushed against the mat with a trembling arm, eventually staggering to her feet. She had to press the attack before Bandita could recover. Laxia approached the fallen luchadora, taking hold of one arm with one hand and her head with the other to drag her upright. She then drew Bandita’s head beneath her arm and secured a side headlock. The luchadora’s head was locked tightly against the side of Laxia’s chest. “If you desire my respect so dearly... endure what comes next and claim it for yourself.”

Still breathing heavily, Laxia kept Bandita’s head secured as she began guiding her step by step toward the nearest corner. Attempting a move that required lifting her opponent with raw strength was beyond her in her current condition. Her abdomen and waist were already close to their limits, and her legs no longer possessed their usual explosiveness. But height could compensate for a lack of strength.

Climbing the turnbuckle and driving down with the combined force of her weight and descent. That was the most practical and damaging attack her exhausted body could still deliver. Laxia’s mind worked quickly. What she needed now was neither elegance nor beauty. She needed a decisive finishing blow.

Keeping Bandita trapped in the side headlock, Laxia dragged her near the corner before finally stopping. The turnbuckle stood only a few steps away. During the pin moments earlier, with their abdomens pressed firmly together, Laxia had felt every fading tremor of strength within Bandita’s body. The irregular contractions of her abs. Her broken breathing. The lack of force even in the hand that had tried to push Laxia away. Even breaking the pin had required Bandita to gather what remained of her strength merely to lift one shoulder from the mat.

Laxia’s judgment that Bandita could barely remain upright was not careless assumption. It was a conclusion she had read directly from the luchadora’s body while they were pressed together. The pressure that had kept Bandita’s head firmly against Laxia’s chest slowly melted away. The moment the weakened luchadora collapsed, Laxia intended to climb the turnbuckle and prepare a final strike carrying both her full weight and the height of her descent.

[CyanDimitrik]

Her arm was cast away.

Bandita's eyes opened at that. It felt so sharp. So sudden. Did she do something wrong? Was she being too careless with herself? Had Laxia realized she'd grown to admire her, to - perhaps guiltily - enjoy the closeness of their competition in every sense.. and this was rejection?

She squeezes her eyes shut again. No. Laxia is frustrated. Anyone would be after that pin break. Anyone! Laxia has a haughty demeanor, but there's something warm under there, something inviting and earnest. She can't forget that. She has to make sure she understands what wrestling her means to her at this point. That she wants to earn her respect!

'Enough...!'

The suddenness and sharpness of the word cut into her heart, causing the Latina to gasp softly in surprise. Could she really be angry with her? Did she really screw everything up by not forcing her to tap out? Did she figure her out? Bandita looks up at Laxia with a stricken gaze, like a kicked pet - eyes round and, with mouth open to accommodate each labored breath, a wounded and confused frown. There are no jokes to follow. No remarks.

What Laxia says to follow feels like a heel pressing into her. Her gaze drops, lashes falling low over her eyes.

"S-sorry..," she murmurs. She doesn't know if the word would even be heard over the commotion, but she felt compelled to say it, to apologize for whatever she'd done to burn things. It could be anything. Any myriad of confusing things. That uncertainty threatens to eat her, robbing her of the ability to collect herself quickly.

And with that, Laxia rises faster. Bandita is drawn limply to her feet, her figure slouched. The side headlock presses her cheek firmly into the inviting softness of her breast, her left arm instinctively wrapping Laxia's waist to support herself while the right hand grabs onto her wrist. She's walked to the corner of the ring; and even with her body aching and her heart huring, the luchadora's mind continues to teem. To see the various angles and opportunities in the topography as they pass.

Even that corner post could be useful. If she'd walk her all the way there.

Which she is doing.

Endure what comes next...?

..endure it?

Bandita's expression darkens a little. A spark in her wants to see what she has in mind, but the stronger voice is demanding she not give in. If she's going to lose out on-- well, whatever she was inwardly hoping would come of things, then winning is the only thing left! So when the arm loosens on her, Bandita's left arm withdraws from Laxia's waist.

It instead reaches around to hook behind the ginger's neck. Then, so too joins the right. She suddenly shifts forward, planting her right boot against the turnbuckle pad and bracing her back against Laxia's torso. The left boot follows suit, and soon she's walking up the corner post! Legs pump, launching herself into a backwards somersault over Laxia's head, briefly meeting her eye-to-eye with a look of fiery determination, before dropping to the mat behind her.

Bandita's hands pull fiercely against the captive ginger's head on the descent. Bandita lands heavily in a seated position, but Laxia's back is guided to the mat with comet-like force. The commentators are going wild again, identifying the technique along with the audience: "Látigo Bandolera~! She pulled it off! Látigo Bandoleraaaa!"

They're doing their best to pronounce the Spanish, and Bandita deeply appreciates it. But for right now, amidst the wild raving of the audience and commentators alike, her eyes are fixated on her rival.

"I'll claim it.. by beating you..," she says between hard breaths, her tone a little more firm, resolved.

[Letta]

Laxia kept the luchadora’s head firmly trapped beneath her arm as she advanced toward the corner, one measured step at a time. Bandita’s slackened body leaned against her side. The arm wrapped around Laxia’s waist and the hand resting loosely over her wrist carried a faint warmth that seeped through her skin. Don’t let it get to you.. One more step. The touch was too weak to even be called resistance, yet it stubbornly refused to fade from her awareness. Ignore it... Laxia forced herself to take another step. But then the memory of Bandita’s eyes widening when Laxia had brushed her arm away returned, accompanied by the voice that had barely reached her through the roar of the crowd. Laxia’s steps came to a halt. Damn it...!

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head sharply, as though trying to cast away the warmth around her waist, the lingering touch against her wrist, and the apology still echoing in her ears. Continuing to search for meaning behind it all would only cost her another decisive moment. She had already allowed herself to be shaken enough. I will finish this with my next attack. Refusing to question the reasons any further, Laxia opened her eyes once more. The hesitation that had clouded her blue gaze was gone, replaced by a cold and unmistakable resolve. Bandita was still within her grasp. Laxia’s arm gradually loosened, slowly releasing the pressure of the headlock that held the luchadora against the side of her chest. The moment Bandita’s weakened body collapsed, she intended to climb the turnbuckle and prepare her final strike. Just as she moved to take that first step,

“Nnngh……?!”

The first thing Laxia noticed was the sudden disappearance of the weight beneath her arm. Rather than falling, Bandita pitched herself forward. The left arm that had been wrapped around Laxia’s waist slipped free and hooked around the back of her neck, while the right hand that had been holding her wrist joined it, forcing Laxia’s upper body forward. Yet Laxia quickly regained her composure. As if that alone could turn this around...? Bandita was trapped in the corner. There was nowhere to retreat and no room to build momentum. A faint smile touched Laxia’s lips as she wrapped both arms around the luchadora’s firm, slender waist. All she had to do was break her balance. But just as Laxia tightened her fingers, the body in her grasp suddenly surged upward. Bandita’s right boot planted against the turnbuckle. Then the left followed.

What....?!

With her back pressed against Laxia’s upper body, Bandita rapidly walked up the corner. The turnbuckles became the steps propelling her upward, while Laxia’s body became the support and axis that steadied her rotation. Laxia had believed she had accurately read Bandita’s condition. The shallow breathing and irregular spasms she had felt through their joined abdomens. The hand that had barely possessed enough strength to push her away. None of those sensations had been false. Bandita truly was exhausted. But she had never needed to lift or shove Laxia using only her remaining strength. How...? Had I simply let myself fall, the move would have failed..! Realization struck her. Bandita had expected Laxia to remain standing. She had known that pride alone would keep her on her feet, preparing the next attack. Even Laxia’s resolve had been turned into part of the technique. Shock and frustration spread across her expression, joined by an admiration she did not wish to acknowledge. She counted on my pride...! Then, as Bandita flipped backward over her head, their eyes met.

The hurt and confusion from moments earlier were gone. Only a fierce, unwavering determination remained. This was neither mercy nor playfulness. Bandita was trying to prove her worth and seize the respect she desired with her own hands. The next instant, Laxia’s vision violently overturned.
The arms around the back of her neck pulled down with savage force, dragging her head with them. Her upper body toppled backward, and even her boots were torn from the canvas. “Aaaah...!” The arena lights and the crowd blurred together as they raced across her vision. *CRASH!!* Laxia’s back and shoulders were driven into the mat. While her upper body stopped dead against the canvas, the momentum of her lower half sent it whipping upward. Her hips and both legs rose as though they might pass over her head, folding her body sharply at the waist before it came loose and dropped back down. *THUD....!* The air was expelled from her lungs all at once. Her lips parted, but no second cry emerged. The heavy shock spread from her back, climbed along her spine, and surged into the base of her neck as a bell-like ringing filled her skull.

Her unfocused blue eyes stared toward the ceiling. The lights split into two, then blurred into three, while the tilted ceiling seemed to rotate slowly above her. She had to rise, had to roll away. But her arms and legs hung heavily against the mat, as though they no longer belonged to her. The moment she believed she had perfectly read her opponent’s body, it was her own judgment that had been caught. Yet anger was not all that remained. Bandita’s unpredictability, her ability to produce an entirely new answer whenever Laxia believed the match was over, had just been carved into her body through one flawless technique.

“Uuugh.....”

A faint groan slipped from her lips as her orange hair spread across her face and the canvas. Her chest and abdomen rose only slightly with each short, uneven breath. One arm barely moved. Her fingers weakly scraped against the mat and curled once, only to loosen again without strength. With nothing left but the will to rise, Laxia lay sprawled across the canvas, disoriented and utterly dazed.

[CyanDimitrik]

Bandita sat there, softly panting under the endless crashing waves of sound rushing in from all sides. Laxia lay before her, limbs splayed and weakly moving, athletic body shifting with each breath. The sweat covering her skin glistening beneath the harsh overhead lights,every inhale and exhale casting a highlight over the contours of her feminine curves and muscletone. The pretty face Bandita had become such a fan of now seemed to lie defeated - stunned. Unable to focus.

Something in Bandita's heart aches. Not for having slammed the girl down, over some desire to not inflict pain or suffering on someone she saw as egregiously pretty. She stepped into the ring. She signed up for everything coming. Willingly. The ache is for what parts she's sure she lost with that one act of mercy. The memory of the girl subtly bantering with her, the smile that had finally broken Laxia's cool demeanor when they were grappled together, hearing her call her chiquita...

Nothing left but to pin her. To make her recognize her. She could make the point maybe more effectively by going for a submission now - could Laxia even resist her at this point? But that nagging feeling won't let her. Laxia may hate her now, but she can't do that to her. Besides, pinning someone only takes 'til the count of three.

Bandita shifts onto her knees, then pitches forward onto hands and knees, her body hovering over Laxia's to eclipse the overhead lights. She lowers herself over the girl, first settling chest upon chest with her, the sternum just above Laxia's nose. The soft, plush yield of the girl's breasts push in warmly over Laxia's, and for a moment, she can feel the other girl's heart beating directly beneath hers. That kicks up enough confusing, extra warm sensations threatening to invade her mind, and after a few long seconds of that, Bandita is sliding her body further the noblewoman's.

She next comes to a stop with her breasts shelved beneath Laxia's, and her back arching inwards. Her stomach meets Laxia's face, smooth skin brushing the refined topography of the noble's fetching visage. Abdominals over the eyes, pressed to her nose, pressed to her lips, unless Laxia turns her face away. For Bandita's part, her delicate facial features first press to Laxia's stomach, primarily pressed in with the mouth and chin. She doesn't mind the fact that the skin is glistening in sweat. Somehow it makes her feel more connected to her, on a visceral level, knowing that she's sweating just as hard. Her head turns, pressing her cheek tight into the pit of her stomach. Her hands reach upwards, above her head, finding either side of the ginger's hips - and that's what spurs her a little further.

A final scoot sees Bandita pushing with her knees over the mat, at last aligning her body just so over Laxia's. Her hips meet the girl's face, while Bandita's chin rests dangerously close to the gap between her legs. The arms far more comfortably set to purpose, the left wrapping around her left thigh. The right hand finds Laxia's right inner thigh, and the palm presses into the soft skin, fingers kneading into the muscle. Katsumi is keenly aware of the sensation of Laxia's face against her hips, even if only the cheek at this point. The feeling of sharing a heartbeat with her has been magnified, multiplied, invasive thoughts threatening to break down the doors of her mind. Her hips instinctively press a little tighter inwards, convincing herself that it's for the pin. That's all. Nothing more. She isn't hating herself right now for loving the feel of her opponent like this beneath her.

But that's a fib. She is. She's loving every part of it. Feeling the curves of her opponent's body pressed up into her, rising and falling with each breath. Feeling the heat radiating from her skin, the wetness of the sweat they're sharing. Feeling her body pinned beneath her in this final moment. Knowing she's conquered the confident, cool, aloof noble. It feels electric.

Bandita arches her back down into Laxia hard, knees spreading to anchor herself tighter. Her head lifts, and the arm wrapping her thigh draws back, hooking the leg into the air and hugging it into the gap between her neck and shoulder, alongside her jaw and cheek. Bandita's cheek presses into the inner-thigh, and with her body sealed atop Laxia's, the visual is complete for the cameras.

One girl pinning the other in full, savage dominance. The penultimate moment both girls had been wrestling for. She just needs Laxia to remain lying flat beneath her.

Cameras flash.

"COUNT IT!," she shouts to the referee.