Fanning Flames! Blaise Cameron vs Blade Uehara

[CyanDimitrik]

"Hero?," Blaise asks the now flumped and resting Blade Uehara. "Don't think I'd call ya that." He shifts his hips against her, until he's mounted upon her perky backside, his thighs hugging her narrow hips. Leaning in, his left hand sets over her shoulder while the right hand traces the index finger down the dip of her bare back, from just beneath the strap of her top to just above the tailbone. "More like... severe fan crush."

There was something very enjoyable about the fact that he was poised dominantly over the girl he admired from afar - and about bantering with her like this. There'd be no point in denying he had a hard crush on her, either. Not after the way things were turning in her room just before the match. That's something she'd have already known, right? Or maybe she thought it developed right in the moment, upon seeing the girl in the flesh.

Whatever the case, the surest way to her heart was with her flat on her back, and him pinning her down.

...it sounds better in context.

Blaise had already decided what he intended to do with her. He wants her not only defeated, but impressed. And step one is making sure she stays pliable on the mat. Working her back is a good start, but she'll need the wind knocked out of her. With some inward level of reluctance, Blaise dismounts her rear and grabs her by the arms once more, attempting to pull her up first to her knees, then loading her the rest of the way across his shoulders. His hand settles behind her neck, the other arm hooking behind her thigh and between the legs in a fireman carry, holding her stomach snug behind his neck.

And if all goes as intended, as soon as she's up, he's popping into the air and turning aside with her - pulling her head low to ensure she impacts the mat hard on her shoulders and back, not her neck. He doesn't intend to injure her, after all, just leave her stunned with a heavy slam!

[killcarrion]

Blade didn't think she should be blamed for misconstruing Blaise as just another fawning fanboy who was overanxious about making a name for themselves in the business and shaking hands with a veteran of the industry. Especially considering how much of a stuttering and flummoxed mess he was when first attempting to introduce himself at her locker-room doorway, a situation she mercifully saved him from at the risk of them both dying of embarrassment and cringe right then and there. Little did Blade know that he seemingly saved his confidence and bravado for whenever he stepped within the squared circle. The settled warmth of a muscled physique swathed behind her ended up slackening the aerialist into an odd sense of compliance once bestriding her punkish posterior, trailing hands and whispered professions bringing into the light what was already an obvious fact to any with a working set of eyes and ears.

"...Well, yer getting the crush part down, at least..." Blade remarked in between panted breaths as Blaise made her become quite comforted and appreciated even though she was completely underneath his control. The Phoenix was making quite the statement for his own honed skills by having wrestled the vaunted veteran back down to the canvas with only a wriggled shimmy beneath him and uptick to one of her legs as a sign of defiance. Unfortunately, Blaise apparently still had his eyes on the metaphorical prize as he started to gingerly shepherd the aerialist onto her knees before she yelped from the yanked heft onto his broad shoulders. Blade not exactly appreciating being showcased like a beach towel or a fetching accessory around Blaise's neck like this, but his clutched hands were ironclad and ensured Blade would end up driven sideways onto her back with a canvas quaking slam that left her rattled and splayed out.

[CyanDimitrik]

The audience pops for the powerful slam, appreciating that nether side seemed to be going easy on the other. Such a boring notion that would be! But no, the image of Blade Uehara's body impacting the mat and remaining splayed out was proof positive aplenty to the fans that the venerated Wrestle Angels alumnus was getting no special treatment!

Blaise couldn't even fathom the notion of not giving her everything he's got. It wouldn't exactly impress her if he treated her as anything less than she actually is! No, the way into the heart of any genuine, legitimate professional wrestler girl isn't going to be through gentile behavior; it'll be through roughness. Competition. Dominance. Treating her like she isn't fragile.

Blaise is already on hands and knees by the time Blade is settled flat on the mat, looking down at her slender form spread out against the canvas. A quick look to the side, then back to her again, and he's determined what he intends to do. He leans in quickly, interposing his face into her vision and obstructing the overhead lights.

"Got somethin' special for ya."

He flashes a bright smile.

Then the head slides back out of frame.

Blaise pops to his full height and he repositions himself at her left side, facing the crowd. Hands lift high above his head, and - CLAP. CLAP. CLAP. CLAP. The audience has joined in, creating a steady, staccato thunder in the arena, issuing out like shockwaves of energy. He bounces twice on his boots, then takes off at a sprint towards the ropes. Leaping, his boots plant against the middle rope, stretching it hard under his weight before snapping him back into the air.

His body twists over in a smooth, even elegantly precise arc. His arms draw up above his head, clenching his abdominals at the ready, and ultimately aimed to come crashing down directly across Blade's bare belly in his signature lionsault, the Solar Flare!

[killcarrion]

Loathe though Blade was to reminisce about her yesteryears within Wrestle Angel since flashbacks to bygone days seemed more appropriate for cantankerous geriatric curmudgeons, she distinctly remembered being targeted by other wrestlers looking to make a name for themselves by taking down the heralded Aerial Artist herself. Ambitious and talented newcomers whom Blade could relate to given her own struggles scratching and clawing her way into wrestling relevance ever since her own official debut until eventually establishing herself as a marquee player in the game. Except this time around the aspiring hotshot in question wasn't so much motivated by the prospect of advancing their own career, as he was with his own impassioned fandom and daresay infatuation with the aerialist. Ya see...complications like these were exactly why Blade tried to keep her business and personal lives as separate as humanly possible...

Well, regardless of the motivations, it was Blaise's honed skills and techniques that were enabling him to be in such a commanding lead over the veteran puppeteered onto his shoulders and dunked to the canvas with seamless efficacy. "Ngh...Don't suppose it's aspirin, I hope..." Blade muttered to Blaise's facials before disappearing, rattled into a spreadeagled compliance with the audience rallied together in unison via a rousing clapping ovation orchestrated by the phoenix putting on a wrestling clinic at the aerialists expense. A shadow within the luminescence of the arena lights signaled Blade to open her eyes on the precipice of being pancaked beneath Blaise's ripped physique to an ecstatic pop from the crowd, a picturesque moonsault squashed into her smooth midsection contributing to a hoarse hacking of air and spastic uptick to her flaccid limbs. Blade settling beneath the blazing heartthrob afterward in grimaced fatigue.

[CyanDimitrik]

One thing Blaise has come to appreciate - one of many, at that - when it comes to Blade Uehara is that she's so darn quippy. No matter what situation she seems to be in, she has a one-liner locked and loaded. It's cute. Endearing. He has every expectation that she's capable of wrestling angry, and foregoing the charm, but how many times has she wrestled and just been so free with her fun energy? It's never something the cameras picked up when he watched her wrestle, and it makes this whole affair have a curiously, entertainingly, date-like quality.

He has not been taking it easy on her. But she knows he wouldn't. She hasn't been taking it easy on him, either, he hopes. But the humor tells him that, at least on some level? She's enjoying this.

He hopes she is.

He definitely is.

His abs smash her invitingly slim stomach.

The ring quakes under the impact of his body impacting across hers, and all at once, he's abundantly aware of the smooth warmth of her belly beneath his. Hearing her involuntary reaction, feeling her body cringe beneath him, they're all gratifying. He scoots himself a little further against her, pressing lower abdominals tight into the pit of her stomach. His right arm hooks her left thigh close to the hip, drawing the toned, slender limb into the air and to the side. He braces his upper-body weight on his left elbow and shouts, "She's pinned!"

The referee dutifully drops to the mat beside the pair, ready to begin counting the fall.

Every moment of it is exciting. From the audience watching him pin a competitor like her with pedigree, coming up from being such a loser, to the knowledge that it's her he's pinning down. The feel of her body wrapped against his, feeling her leg, her skin against his - it brings a rush of feelings reminiscent to their entanglement in her room. How had they even gotten to that point?

Would she be feeling it, too?

..she'd probably just be feeling the pain of the bodysplash, he figures. Right?