Madeline Christiansen vs. Armando 'Army' Rodriguez - Our Dance

[BlackAkuma]

Even through the haze and the crowd’s growing chants, Army could make out Madeline’s honeyed voice coming his way. He smirked as he lurched forward and grasped the ropes for balance. ”In my defense, it’s worked before.”

Quite well, really. He’d gotten good at whipping that move out over the years, one of his better pure pro wrestling techniques, but maybe he should’ve known better than to try that sort of thing with Madeline, who’d been doing an A+ job of staying ahead of him every step of the way. The woman’s instincts were just too sharp, like she had a spider-sense thing going on, and coming at her raw was never going to end well.

”Sure. ‘Confidence’.” He wiped his chin as he came out of the corner. ”Let’s go with that.”

Army was given precious little time to process thing as he came out of his haze - Madeline was already on the move, closing the distance with quick, light steps, practically gliding over the canvas. He knew the signs of an oncoming strike when he saw one, reminded too well of Felina’s advances, and his guard came up quick to block whatever was coming his way.

Just not quick enough.

Her knee shot and slipped clean between the gap in his arm, meeting flush on his chin for a blow that rocked him, nearly knocking him back up against the pads. He kept his footing, though, and his instincts did him right, as his feet took him to the side and tried to slip out of the corner. His body knew that position was bad news, even if his brain was having trouble processing at the moment.

Even so, it was only a temporary measure, and he kept backpedaling. His guard rose and his eyes locked on Madeline, hoping he could figure out her next move in time to actually do something about it, but he was skeptical. She was getting into her rhythm, and that was so much bad news for him.

[Lightman]

Madeline had never been a cruel woman by nature. It might seem that way to anyone else who fights her, but her code keeps her bound to honour.

Good humour came easily to the Englishwoman, courtesy was second nature, and she took no pleasure in hurting someone who could not answer back. Yet competition had a way of sharpening her edges, drawing out a colder clarity, especially when facing someone who could endure, adapt, and keep coming. Armando had proven himself to be that sort of opponent, and respect demanded honesty in return. If he was willing to push her, then she would push back just as hard.

She advanced as he steadied himself, smile still present but no longer merely decorative. His defence tightened, his instincts kicking in as he slipped away from the corner, and she followed without haste. There was a smooth inevitability to her pursuit, the product of countless rounds spent learning how to cut space rather than chase it.

“Worked before doesn’t mean it works today. You'd find I’m not quite so obliging.”

Her feet traced his retreat in a shallow arc, shoulders angled to deny him a clean line past her. One hand lifted as if to reach for him, fingers flexing just enough to catch his eye. When it darted forward, it did not grab, but brushed close to his injured arm, close enough to remind him that it was still very much in her thoughts.

When he focused on it, that fraction of hesitation was all she needed. Madeline shifted her weight in a seamless transition, hips turning as her support foot pivoted on the canvas. The sequence was a blend of close-quarters grappling and striking, but concluded with a swift and forceful low roundhouse kick launched from the opposite side. Her shin cut in towards the outside of his knee, aimed to disrupt, destroy, steal balance and narrow his options.

[BlackAkuma]

Options. Fuck, did Army need options.

Madeline was starting to come off like a sexy, British Terminator. He could slow her down, delay her, but stopping her was something he was having real trouble with. He’d had some mild success here and there, but he was blowing through his trump cards, and he was well aware that this was only really the start of the match. He still had at least one more fall to go, bare minimum.

Army had never considered himself much of a planning guy, but a plan was exactly what he needed right now. He was in full retreat, and as Madeline came after him, she made no bones about letting him know which of his four appendages she was most interested in. If he fell again, it’d be another armbar, or maybe even something worse. And just when his arm was feeling good enough to make some magic happen, too.

Whatever fear she had of going strike for strike with him was gone, now. Army hesitated, driven away by her grasping hand, and that was all the opening she needed to lash out and destroy his base, cracking him on the side of his leg. ”Shit-”

Army was falling back tumbling away from her in a sloppy fall. In desperation, he grabbed the middle rope with his left hand and gripped it tight in a last ditch attempt to stay up right - it worked, but hardly solved his problem. She would be on him in a second, ready to put him down. Maybe for good, this time.

Perfect.

Army fell back, then used the rope to rebound, rising back to his feet in an instant and putting himself in the sweet spot, going from defense to offense in a flash. As the gap between them closed, he planted his feet, brought his right arm, then fired upwards once more - another

, the one coming from all the way downtown.

[Lightman]

Seeing Armando buckle and stumble after the kick to his knee stirred something sharp and predatory behind Madeline’s smile. It was the look of a shark that had just scented blood in the water, not out of malice, but out of opportunity. There were still more rounds to come; she knew that well enough, yet momentum mattered. A strong finish here could tilt the first fall and carry consequences into the next, where the added rule of hentai would only magnify her strengths and turn patience into punishment.

She closed the distance with purpose, steps light and direct, posture coiled forward as if the canvas itself were pulling her along. His grip on the rope bought him seconds, nothing more, and she intended to spend them dearly. One hand reached again for that compromised arm, fingers open, threatening control rather than striking, the promise alone often enough to force hesitation.

“Careful now~.” She chimed, breath steady, eyes bright. “You keep offering it, I’m going to take it.”

Her footwork shifted, angling off to deny him a clean line, hips low and ready to latch on. The intent was clear in her movements. Drag him down, fold him up, make the ring feel very small indeed. Even if Army escaped, the tax would be paid later, when legs felt heavier and arms less willing to answer.

The rope rebounded him towards Madeline faster than expected. For a fleeting instant, calculation gave way to instinct, and she surged in, committing to the pressure. Her shoulders dipped, weight loading for the clinch, already thinking three steps ahead as to where she would take him once they hit the mat.

That was the moment the world changed.

Armando’s right arm came up from below with brutal conviction, a rising arc that was neither hook nor uppercut but something far uglier in between. The Smash met her flush; the force snapped her head back as if the air itself had struck her. There was no time to soften it, no clever adjustment to steal away the damage.

Madeline’s body folded and fell, limbs slack as she crumpled to the canvas. The lights above blurred into a pale smear, sound draining away until even the crowd vanished into nothing. She lay still, splayed against the mat, consciousness gone in an instant, the charge halted mid-stride as the first fall slipped decisively out of her hands.

[BlackAkuma]

…it worked?

Holy fuck, it worked.

Army had landed countless punches in his lifetime, and he knew when one landed clean and when one came up shallow. That was a good a shot. The punch landed flush on Madeline’s chin, and he felt the impact traveled all the way through his body. Down the air, past the torse, right down to his heels. It wasn’t his absolute best - the arm was still too sore for that - but it was enough, more than enough, to send her flying like he’d landed Shoryuken.

”Jackpot!”

Her body hit the canvas, dead weight, and Army didn’t even bother following her down for the pin. He knew a knockout when he saw it, so he gave the referee space to drop down and confirm. Sure enough, she gave the sign and called for the bell. Game, set, match.

”Fuck yeah!” Army backed over to the corner and leaned against the pads as the crowd got over their stunned silence long enough to throw applause his way. He raised his fists to the sky, triumphant. ”Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck-”

”Army, you remember this is two out of three falls, right?”

Army froze and squinted his eyes in mid-celebration, as the referee’s words brought his party to a screeching halt. He’d been so caught up in the moment, so hyped from landing that knockout shot, that yeah, it had slipped his mind for a second. Call it a reflex, he didn’t do matches like this very often. ”I…I might’ve. A little. Yeah.”

Grumbling under his breath, Army made his way over and plopped down next to Madeline’s unconscious form, where he sat with legs crossed. He reached over and gave her a few gentle pokes on the cheek. ”Wake up, lady. Up and at ‘em.” He wiggled his fingers her way. ”I command thee, rise.”

[Lightman]

In Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, when someone is rendered unconscious, the referee is meant to act quickly and decisively, lifting the legs to encourage blood back to the brain while medical checks begin at once. It was a procedure drilled into Madeline through years of competition, muscle memory as much as anything else. Somewhere in the fog between darkness and return, that absence registered as a quiet, academic thought. When she watched the footage back later, she suspected she would mention it to the higher-ups, not out of indignation, but because habits existed for a reason.

Sound returned first, a muffled roar like the sea heard through stone. The canvas was cold against her cheek, its texture unfamiliar for a heartbeat longer than it should have been. There was no panic in that moment, only a drifting awareness that something had gone very right for Armando and very wrong for her.

The punch had done its work properly. Even without seeing it again, her body understood the message. Timing, angle, commitment. She had pressed forward like a hunter convinced the prey was finished, only to discover teeth where she expected collapse. The irony was not lost on her, even before her eyes opened.

Light bled back in gradually, resolving into the hazy blur of the ring above her and a familiar silhouette settling nearby. The crowd noise sharpened into cheers and chatter, a living thing that rose and fell with no regard for her pride or plans. Somewhere close, a voice cut through with theatrical command.

Madeline’s lashes fluttered, then lifted. She turned her head slightly, emerald eyes finding Armando sitting beside her, fingers wiggling with exaggerated seriousness. For a second, she simply stared, then a crooked smile tugged at her mouth.

“Oh, do stop.” she murmured, voice dry but steady enough. “I’m not Frankenstein. And I’m fairly certain I don’t require a prince’s kiss either.”

She drew in a deeper breath and shifted onto her side, one arm bracing against the mat as the world settled properly back into place. There was a dull ache in her jaw and a ringing that promised to linger, but nothing alarming. She rolled her shoulders once, testing herself, then glanced up at him again, amusement warming her gaze.

“Well played.” She added, sincerity clear beneath the teasing lilt. “That was beautifully timed. I got greedy.”

A pause followed, then a soft laugh escaped her, light and unforced despite the circumstances. Losing a fall by knockout was hardly ideal, yet there was no bitterness in her expression. If anything, there was appreciation, the kind reserved for moments when an opponent proved exactly why they were worth facing.

“You earned that fall…” Madeline said as she accepted help from the mat and her own limbs, pushing herself up to sit properly. “…But now it’s time for your favourite one of all, Mr Sexy T-Rex~.”

Her smile widened, competitive and bright, as she looked out across the ring. The match was far from over, and if Armando had found her opening, she intended to find his in return.

[BlackAkuma]

While he didn’t show it much on his face, Army had some small worry about Madeline’s health after the blow. His fist was still numb from the contact, even through the padding on his gloves. That Smash was one of the best he’d ever landed, would’ve dropped even a guy his size, maybe bigger. There was a chance it had done real damage to her, and if she didn’t wake up soon, they might have to call it. He wanted a win, but not like that…

It wouldn’t be a problem though. Soon enough, those beautiful, emerald eyes of her started fluttering, and Madeline came back to the land of the living. She woke up like she was coming out of a shampoo commercial, and he gave her a quick wave when those eyes found him. ”Hey.”

Of course, Madeline’s first instinct was to quip his way. ”Well that’s good. I don’t know any princes, anyway.”

He flicked his tongue her way as he stood up and happily took her praises, though he waved them off with a smirk a moment later. ”Eh, I got lucky. Sometime’s lucky’s all you need.” While he didn’t totally believe that, he knew that was a part of it, to some small extent. He damn sure wasn’t expecting to hit that move again. But he wasn’t going to let that sort of thing get to him. The important thing was that he was winning, handedly. He was on the front foot for once, and if he played this right, he could keep it that way.

Army extended his hand to help Madeline back up, only to pull it back when she did that all by herself. He played it off like he was brushing his hand on his pants, then stepped back with his fingers folded behind his head, getting his stretches in. ”Oh, yeah, here comes the fun part.” He winked her way and slid back to his corner, where he leaned over with hands on his knees. ”Don’t worry, lady. I’ll make this fun for the both of us.”

The moment the bell rang, Army came rushing out of the corner, looking to close in on her fast. He knew as well as anyone how it felt to wake up after a KO. Even if your mind was present, the body needed a little while to come back properly. This was the best time to strike.

He rushed her way, ducked low, and tried to wrap his arms around body, looking to pull her in and lift her up into a tight bearhug.

[Lightman]

There was a certain professional pride in the way Madeline came back to herself, even with her head still ringing faintly. Knockouts were unpleasant things, but they were also information. They told you exactly where the line was, how fast you crossed it, and how much respect an opponent deserved for putting you there. Armando had earned that respect, and the crooked smile she gave him as she rose carried that acknowledgement plainly.

“Lucky or not…” she replied lightly as she rolled her neck once and set her stance, “…you still had to pull the trigger.” Her tone stayed warm, playful even, but there was a sharp edge of focus beneath it. The bell for the second fall was coming, and the match had very much changed shape.

The space between them felt different now. Her legs moved a fraction slower, timing just a hair off, and she knew it. That knowledge kept her honest. No bravado, no rushing. She kept her guard compact, shoulders relaxed, eyes steady on him as he backed away to his corner and promised her fun with a wink that earned a soft huff of laughter in return. “Do try not to enjoy yourself too much.” Madeline called back, accent lilting, as she took a measured breath and let it out slowly through her nose. The canvas beneath her feet felt solid again, reassuring, even if her jaw still ached.

The bell rang, sharp and final, and Armando exploded forward exactly as she expected. No circling, no testing. Straight in, low and driving, arms reaching for her middle with the clear intent of crushing air from lungs that had only just started behaving again.

She shifted instinctively, hips turning, hands dropping to frame against his shoulders, but the timing was not quite there. His arms wrapped around her torso before she could fully angle out, a powerful bearhug cinching tight as he pulled her in against his chest.

A quick, breathless laugh slipped from her at the impact. “Straight to cuddling, then~.” she quipped, even as she worked. Her feet widened, knees bent, centre of gravity sinking as she fought to stay grounded rather than be lifted. One forearm slid between their bodies, creating the smallest wedge of space at his hip, while the other hand clawed for an underhook that stubbornly refused to appear.

Pressure built, ribs compressed, and her vision sparked briefly at the edges. She adjusted again, turning her chin down and tucking it tight to protect her neck, then shifted her weight hard onto one leg. The free foot scraped along the mat, hunting for his ankle with the edge of her sole, looking to disrupt his base even if she could not yet break free.

For the moment, she was contained, held fast against him, and she knew it. But even there, wrapped in his strength, Madeline stayed composed. This was not a time to panic but a time for problem-solving, one small movement at a time.

[BlackAkuma]

”I make no promises!”

Army came off as cool and confident, because he had to. Wrestling was all about the presentation, after all - you had to feed the ego a little, play off for the crowd. If you were uncertain about thing and you showed it, your opponent could use that and get in your head, then you lost the head game. From there, the dominos fell. In th ring, out of the ring, you had to project strength.

So Army played it up. All smiles. Calm. Deep down, though, he knew, he had no idea what the fuck he was doing. While he’d been in hentai matches, he’d never won any of them. Wrestling, he could. Sex, he could do. Putting them together never clicked, at least not enough for him to get the W. He was familiar enough with Madeline to know that she didn’t suffer the same fate.

Screw it. First time for everything, right? Right.

He knew one thing for sure, though - if he wanted to do hentai, he needed to get up close and personal with Madeline, and there went many moves more up close and personal than a bearhug. It was also one of the few submission moves he was pretty good at, assuming he could lock it in.

That turned out to be a big assumption, in this case. While he did manage to get ahold of her, a small miracle in itself, Madeline didn’t come easy, as she worked her arm into alleviate the pressure. He could also feel the at foot of her working around him, looking for the trip. Persistent as she was, he knew she would find it, sooner or later. Probably sooner.

”Don’t mind me, lady.” He whispered in her ear, finding it through the tangle wilds of her hair. ”Just…getting to know you a little better.”

Army wanted to know her a little better in a place where he had some advantage, though - like, say, the corner. Instead of retreated as she tried to trip him, he planted his feet hard and drove forward, hoping to ram her up against the pads, where his weight and leverage would benefit him the most.

[Lightman]

There was a tell with Armando that Madeline picked up on quickly, something that sat beneath the jokes and the swagger. When the rules shifted into territory that rewarded intimacy as much as technique, his confidence thinned just a little. It was not weakness so much as unfamiliar ground, and compared to her own long comfort with it, the contrast was obvious.

Part of her respected him for pushing into it, anyway. Another part found it irresistibly amusing, enough that she decided to indulge him rather than shut it down outright.

Her smile came easily even as his arms stayed tight around her, a soft laugh brushing the side of his jaw. “You know…” she murmured, breath still a touch unsteady from the earlier knockout, “…you could have just asked.” The tease was gentle, playful, designed to keep him talking while her body kept working.

The pressure of his drive carried her back step by step until the turnbuckles pressed against her shoulders. The corner arrived with a dull thud, canvas vibrating beneath their combined weight. Her knees bent instinctively, spine lengthening upward to keep space where she could, chin tucked as she absorbed the squeeze.

One foot lifted and planted firmly against his hip, heel biting in just enough to matter. It was not a strike, more a lever, using bone and angle rather than force. Her hips shifted, a small turn that let her upper body slide higher along his chest, buying inches in a situation measured by fractions.

“Mmhmmhmm…” she purred near his ear, tone light despite the effort it cost her. “Taking your time, you might just know how to please a woman...” Her hands slid upward, one forearm bracing against his shoulder while the other guided the back of his head, not yanking but coaxing, encouraging his posture to fold forward.

The movement was pure habit, drawn from years of clinch work and pressure fighting. By changing the height of the embrace, she took some of the power out of his bearhug, forcing him to carry her weight higher than he wanted. Her chest pressed close right at his face as she worked, not as a provocation but as a tool, crowding his space and making it harder for him to breathe cleanly or see what she was doing next.

The world still swam faintly at the edges, a reminder that she was not entirely herself yet. She compensated by slowing everything down, choosing control over explosion. Her taut thighs slowly embracing his sides, balance anchored, waiting for the moment he'd try to adjust or shift.