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

[BlackAkuma]

Madeline felt good. Really good. Stupidly good. It probably didn't help that his experience up to this had been mostly pain and violence, both of which had a habit of leaving him pent up and frustrated after a match.

He pressed up against her in the corner and she overwhelmed his senses without even trying. Just the smell of her, enhanced by the sweat, would’ve driven him wild by itself. But he also had to deal with the feel of their chests together, their heat mingling, and that voice - oh, fuck, that voice. If the wrestling didn’t work out for Madeline, should could make a killing with ASMR.

”Yeah, I guess I could’ve.” He had a breathless laugh to match her own. ”This? This is way more fun, though.”

And that was the thing - Army loved women who could kick his ass, and Madeline had proven well that she could do just that in the first round. Even though he’d won, she had been in control for most of it, and the pendulum could’ve swung either way. Now, he was trying to win a hentai match against someone who not only turned him on, but had the skill to beat him. It was a tough ask.

She seemed to know it, too, as she squirmed in his grasp and made her touches even more electric. Their bodies fit together well, muscle pressing against muscle, and she moved in his grasp with an ease that could’ve suggested familiarity. In the next moment, he found himself staring at her chest - the worst thing to look at, being fair.

In fact, he could do something with this. Army readjusted the hold, sliding up to put more pressure on the midsection, then dove in and brought her lips to Madeline’s breasts, finding the hot flesh. Kisses and licks to start, just savoring the skin and seeing what effect it would hav on the Briton. Even he knew that patience was key with this sort of thing.

[Lightman]

Years of grappling had shaped Madeline’s body into something quietly deceptive. Strength lived everywhere in her, clear when she moved, but even at rest there was that blend of give and resistance, softness laid over iron. The work had never sanded away femininity. It had simply learned how to coexist with power. Pressed into the corner with Armando, the truth was impossible for him to miss, muscle responding under his hands, warmth answering warmth.

Her smile stayed easy as his weight settled in, breath brushing his ear while she let the closeness linger. “My my…” she murmured lightly. “Keep it up and people will start talking.” The words were teasing, but her tone invited rather than warned, pitched to keep him right where he was.

The corner held them close, chest to chest, and she let the contact happen without rushing to break it. Instead, her legs slid a little tighter around his middle, not a squeeze meant to hurt, but a controlled embrace that framed his hips and drew him inward. The pressure found the line of his lower back, subtle and knowing, the sort that promised security even as it reminded him who understood leverage better.

A soft sound escaped her as he adjusted, her head tipping back against the padding. One hand drifted into his hair, fingers threading there with deliberate slowness. “Mm. I suppose asking would have been terribly dull for you.” She added, voice warm and amused, “Nothing wrong with manners. But you seem to know what you want~.” Her grip encouraged him closer, guiding rather than forcing, letting him think the idea was entirely his.

When his attention dropped to her chest, she did not stop him. Her arms circled his shoulders instead, drawing him in as though welcoming the choice. The contact drew another quiet breath from her, more indulgent than surprised, and she let it show, knowing exactly what it would do to him.

All the while, her legs kept their patient work, tightening by degrees, calves and thighs closing like a calm tide around his waist. Not enough to trap him yet, just enough to make him aware of it. Years of control made every inch count, every second deliberate.

“Do keep going~.” Madeline whispered, lips curving as she held him there. The embrace looked affectionate, almost tender, but beneath it sat intent and experience, a promise that whether this stayed sweet or turned dangerous would be entirely up to her.

[BlackAkuma]

The crowd had been, perhaps understandably, mixed with their reactions since the match started. While they’d been quiet to start, when the end of the first fall came and blows started landing, they came alive, and despite not being the favorite to win, Army had gotten more than a few cheers when he landed that knockout shows.

Now, however, the two of them had their undivided attention. This was what people came to see, after all - yeah, LAW had action, it had great wrestling, it had wild characters, but you could get that in some degree with any promotion in Japan. People came to LAW to see sex between sweaty, hot people, and that was currently going on in the ring.
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Or, bare minimum, the opening shots of it. Army was more than aware of their attention, and he’d thankfully long since gotten past the point where he had a problem showing skin in front of millions. ”Fuck ‘em.” He breathed deep and buried his face in her auburn hair. ”Let ‘em talk.”

Army had much more interesting things to command his attention, like Madeline’s chest, which he was currently working over with his mouth. She spoke, egged him on, and he obliged, moving from kiss and licks to nibbles and even the occasional bite. ”I do know what I want.” He worked his way lower and lower, until he was teasing at the covered flesh of tap, trying to work his way underneath.

At the same time, his hands busied themselves. At first they came to her thighs. It was a reflex, brought on by the tightening, but they settled soon enough and found their way up to higher ground. His left hand stayed at her exposed skin, enjoying the feel against his palm, pressing at the muscle, while the other went all the way up and settled on her cheek, where he gripped it with a strong, willful touch.

He pressed harder now, deeper, as if his body instinctively wanted to touch as much of her skin as possible. Army shuddered and sank into her. ”Fuck, you feel good.”

[Lightman]

Madeline was quick to note how comfortably Armando was settling into the moment. Some fighters never quite managed the balance, leaning too far into violence or losing themselves entirely in the theatre of sex. Neither approach was wrong, merely different, and over the years she had learned to recognise them all. Adaptability had always been her quiet advantage. Watching him grow bolder told her plenty, and she adjusted just as smoothly.

The crowd noise washed over her in a distant blur, present but secondary. Attention like that was nothing new, and she carried herself as though she belonged there. One shoulder rolled subtly against the pads, posture relaxed, confident, letting the intimacy read without ever looking forced or frantic.

Her hands rose to him then, not to restrain, but to guide. Fingers brushed along his jaw, encouraging his head up until their eyes met properly. The contact was steady and deliberate, a pause in the chaos of sound and movement that centred everything back on the two of them.

She held his chin more firmly now, thumb resting beneath it as she tilted his face to keep his attention. The closeness was intentional, her gaze unwavering, reading him as much as addressing him. “Go on, then...” Madeline continued, voice low but clear. “...What is it you like the most?”

Her free hand traced lightly along his arm, slow enough to be felt, gentle enough to promise rather than demand. It was the sort of touch that suggested confidence rather than need, making space for his answer while never quite letting him forget whose rhythm they were moving to.

[BlackAkuma]

Army’s experience with hentai matches wasn’t high, and probably a good deal less than Madeline’s, but even he could sense that there was something a little different about the way this hentai portion of the match was going. So far, it felt more relaxed and intimate than most of the ones he’d seen and been a part of. Might’ve had something to do with them coming into it fresh off what could’ve been equated to a full match - they were already sweaty, worn down, and used to each other’s touch.

For Army, it worked to make things a little more personal, more intimate. He’d been craving Madeline all match, feeding off the subtle hints, and now that he had a chance to indulge, he was more than ready. She seemed more than a little into it, too, as she brought into it, too, as she took him by the chin and brought them face-to-face, locking him in place with her gaze.

She threw an open-ended question her way. He didn’t have to answer, could’ve just broken away and continued to explore her body…or could he? Madeline had a way of commanding without commanding. Maybe it was just the accent, but even her most innocent words had a hint of dominance to them.

Not that it was required in this case. Army was never the sort of guy to keep his thoughts to himself for long. ”You're strong. Really strong. And good at what you do.” He hesitated for a moment under her gaze, then moved in closer. ”I like that you came so fucking close to taking me out. You could’ve. You’ve got this Lady of War thing going on that works a lot for me.”

He hands stayed pressed against her, but were less insistent, as he kept the focus on the magnetism between them. ”I like…” His voice trailed off into a husky whisper. ”I like…”

Fuck it. He closed the distance and came in for kiss, taking her into a heated embrace. Hungry, greedy, insistent, like he’d been waiting all match and his patience finally gave out. Maybe he had.

[Lightman]

The air between them tasted of salt and exertion, thick with the heavy humidity of two bodies pushed to their absolute limits. There was a rare softness to the atmosphere now that the frantic clashing of limbs had subsided into a rhythmic and weighted heat. Every laboured breath they shared acted as a bridge between the violence of the ring and the intimacy of this transition. Being worn down only served to heighten the sensitivity of her skin against his.

Her fingers found the rugged line of his jaw, hooking under his chin to tilt his face toward hers with an unhurried confidence. She anchored him there, ensuring his dark eyes had nowhere to go but into the depths of her own flinty stare. It was a silent claim of territory.

A faint and knowing smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth as she waited for the inevitable spill of his thoughts. Even without a direct command, the weight of her presence seemed to pull the words from his lungs. There was a certain thrill in knowing that her very silence carried the weight of an ultimatum.

His admission lingered between them longer than the words themselves. Strength. Skill. Danger. Respect. It was not flattery so much as recognition, and that mattered far more to her than any easy compliment. The corner of her mouth curved, not into a smirk, but into something quieter and more genuine. “Those are dangerous things to like in someone.” she said lightly, her voice warm but steady. “So long as you can handle it~.”

He was unravelling before her. The way his hands remained pressed to her body without their previous urgency suggested a man who was finally letting go of his defences. He was yielding to the magnetism she had cultivated since the opening bell. "You like...?" She teased, raising an eyebrow, emeralds shimmering in amusement.

When the space between them finally vanished, the impact was a collision of desperate and unrefined hunger that spoke louder than any of his incomplete sentences. Madeline met the greed of his kiss with a calculated ferocity, winding her fingers into his hair to ground him in the moment. This was it, a feast of heat and sweat that proved exactly how much he had been yearning for the taste of her. She could feel the vibration of his needs against her lips, and she chose to drink them in until he was entirely hers to command.

[BlackAkuma]

Madeline wasn’t wrong. There was nothing technically wrong with being attracted to women who were fully capable of beating you to a pulp - not great for the medical bills, but to each their own. To someone who wrestled women for a living, though, it wasn’t the best trait, and it had come back to bite him more than a few times. If he was lucky, he’d find himself against women who were such a pain in the ass that it didn't matter, like Ami Takeuchi, or ones he could handle quick without much issue.

But taking on someone like Madeline, in a match like this? Yeah, ‘dangerous’. That was a good word for it. On the other hand, though. ”I beat people up for a living. Life’s a danger, lady.”

He wasn’t about to change his way anytime soon. Certainly not now, when he was pressing up against this absolutely gorgeous smokeshow of a woman. Not when they were so close, not when their lips were nearing each other, so much heat…

The touch was every bit as electric as he’d hoped it would be, fire to the touch. His moan echoed down her throat, as every brush of their lips made him hungry for more, like a growing addiction. Madeline was too smooth, too calm, for him to be 100% sure himself, but he got the distinct impression her feelings on the other side weren’t too far off.

He needed out of this corner.

Army pushed out of the corner, spun about and fell forward, almost slamming her into the canvas, his reflexes nearly mastering him. He slowed her descent at the last second with his knee and blunted their impact - not the softest of landings, but not enough to interrupt the rhythm they were working into, as he sought to get on top and pick up the pace so far. ”What about you, huh?” He broke away, just enough to throw out a few rasping words. ”What do you like?”

[Lightman]

The internal conflict he suffered regarding his attraction to powerful women was etched into the very tension of his muscles. It was an amusingly predictable trait for a man of his constitution, one that she intended to exploit with surgical precision. He seemed to understand that his medical bills were the least of his concerns when faced with a woman who could dismantle him with a smile.

A faint and knowing smirk played upon her lips as he offered his defiant retort about the inherent dangers of life. His bravado was a flickering candle in the face of a rising storm.

The proximity between them had reached a point of no return, a sweltering microclimate of shared breath and escalating pulse rates. He was clearly captivated by the vision she presented, and she took quiet pride in the way her presence seemed to cloud his tactical judgement. Every inch of skin that brushed against his served as a reminder of the fire he was so keen to play with.

When their lips finally met, the sensation was a violent spark that threatened to consume the oxygen in the room. The sound of his moan, caught and swallowed within her own throat, was a trophy she had not known she was seeking. It was a raw and honest admission of his growing addiction to the very peril he claimed to embrace.

The sudden surge of energy as he forced them out of the corner was handled with the practised grace of an expert wrestler. He spun her into the open, the world blurring until her back met the canvas with a controlled but firm impact. She utilised the momentum to her advantage, winding her legs around his waist in a high guard that felt like an embrace but functioned as a cage. Her ankles crossed behind his back, locking him into her personal space with a strength that left no room for escape. Allowing her to dictate the range even from her back.

His voice was a ragged whisper as he broke away to demand an answer to his own curiosity. She reached up, her fingers tangling in his hair to pull him back down until their noses brushed. “What do I like?” she echoed lightly. Her lips curved into something knowing.

“I like when people stop trying to impress me.” she said. “And start showing me who they actually are.” Her British lilt was cool and precise, a sharp contrast to the heated chaos of the match. “I like confidence that does not need to shout.” she added. “I like timing. Control. Restraint…” Her fingers traced once across his collarbone, slow, almost thoughtful.

“And I like men who realise that not every step forward is an advance.”

She tipped her head slightly, studying him now, curiosity bright in her gaze rather than challenge. “So…” she murmured. “…What made you rush just then.” Not an accusation or judgement, but an invitation. She tightened her legs around him, drawing him down into the heat of her body to ensure he could not look away. It was a truth designed to keep him guessing while his heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her chest.

[BlackAkuma]

There, this was better. While Army could get certain things done in that corner, he much preferred working with Madeline in the more traditional way, where gravity wasn’t working against him. At most, he gave them some momentary discomfort, and if it bothered her, she didn’t show - not that she likely would’ve shown it, either way. He got the impression she kept such things close to the chest. Speaking of which…

Back on the floor, again. Given what happened the last time they were this close and horizontal, certain alarm bells were ringing in Army’s head, warning him that he shouldn’t have given up that position of power. She’d already shown she could tie him up in knots, given half the chance. He couldn't imagine her doing it like this, but then, his lack of imagination had no bearings on reality. Madeline would know. She could have him screaming in seconds.

Which, oddly, made this even hotter. He did say he liked some danger.

His question wasn’t thrown out there to entice - well, not just to entice. He was genuinely curious what made this woman tick and how the cogs turned between those bright, jade eyes of hers. He tried not to be a selfish lover when it came to these things. He’d seen way too many guys in hentai matches just lay back and give up and let the women do whatever they wanted. Which, hey, could be fun, he wasn’t one to kinkshame. But he liked to be active. To engage.

So the question came out, and what he got in return was curious. He listened, intently, as his hands roamed along her body. His left was still occupied at her thigh, practically magnetized to the creamy skin and taut muscle he found there, but the other was far more adventurous, as it traveled upwards to tickle at her ribcage and move even higher.

Confidence. Timing. Control. Restraint. He could do some of those things, though restraint was never his specialty, at least not in the ring. The last one, though, was a small mystery - stepping forward, but not advancing? He needed some time to wrap his head around it.

”Don’t know.” He gave her a small peck on her lips, then another off to the side. ”Maybe you’ve got me a little anxious. Maybe I’ve just not gotten the hang of mixing sex and violence, yet. Maybe I’m just eager, to…to…”

Army had started trying to slide lower, intending to bring his attention to other parts of her body - as lovely as Madeline’s face was, he could exactly win the match by staring into those gemstones. Her legs had him tight, though, and he was just now noticing how tight, how restricted he really was. He grunted, shifting in her hold, looking for some way to wriggle loose, but he wasn’t finding much. ”Kind of clingy, huh?”

[Lightman]

The canvas was a familiar friend, a flat expanse where the laws of physics and leverage were her only true masters. If he believed the floor was neutral ground, where his superior weight might afford him an easy victory, he was severely mistaken. To an expert like Madeline, the bottom position was not a place of submission but a launching pad for a thousand different traps.

His touch was a curious exploration that she allowed with a calculated stillness. Every movement of his hands across her ribcage was a data point she filed away for later use.

The word clingy was a charmingly naive way to describe the absolute control she maintained over his posture. It was not a desperate hold but a technical locking of the guard that ensured every breath he took was dictated by the pressure of her thighs. She relished the way he grunted and shifted, finding only more resistance and tighter angles whenever he tried to find an exit. “Clingy is not the word I would choose.” she said lightly.

She waited for the precise moment he overextended his centre of gravity to reach for her lower body. With a sudden and explosive snap of her hips and a sharp tug on his shoulder, she swept him off his base with the grace of a practiced predator. The world inverted for him in a heartbeat. Before he could process the loss of balance, she had transitioned seamlessly, using her base to pin him firmly against the mat.

Now she sat atop him, her knees tucked tight against his ribs and her weight distributed with punishing accuracy. She looked down at him with an expression of serene authority. “There’s no need to be anxious.” she added, softer now. “You are not doing anything wrong.” Her voice was a cool and melodic contrast to his ragged breathing. One finger lifted his chin a fraction, not to direct him but to keep his attention. “But you are doing something…confused.”

Her head tilted, curiosity bright rather than sharp. “What is it that you think should be happening right now?” she asked. “That makes you rush when you do not need to?”

Her thumb brushed his jaw once, slow and deliberate. “Is it the closeness?” she continued. “The loss of control? Or the idea that you have to perform rather than just be present?”

A small smile followed. “Because those are three very different struggles.”

She leaned down until the tips of her hair brushed against his cheeks, creating a private sanctuary of sweat and scent. Her fingers traced the line of his collarbone with a feather-light touch that promised both pain and pleasure in equal measure.