Aftershock (For CyanDimitrik)

[Letta]

Laxia dragged her exhausted body into her locker room. The roar of the arena faded as the door shut behind her, leaving only the muffled echo of the crowd beyond the thick walls as a reminder that she had been standing before them only moments ago. The dimly lit room was quiet. “Haaah...”

She let out a long breath and trudged toward the couch with none of her usual grace, dropping onto it and sinking into the cushions as she stared at the ceiling. Her entire body ached. Her abdomen, thighs, and shoulders all throbbed with the lingering punishment of the match, yet somehow she felt strangely relieved. Laxia kicked off one boot, then the other, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. She tossed aside her belt and loosened the straps of her attire that had been tightly pressing against her ample bust, finally allowing herself to breathe more freely. Then she undid what remained of her disheveled hairstyle, letting her orange hair spill loosely over her shoulders and back. Only then did she close her eyes and think back on everything that had happened.

She had lost. Her debut match had ended in defeat. Pretending that did not disappoint her would have been a lie. This was hardly the first impression she had imagined making upon entering LAW, but she had no regrets. She had given everything she could, and Bandita had proven herself worthy of the victory. Naturally, her thoughts settled on the young luchadora. Bandita... Laxia opened her eyes and absently brushed her fingertips across her lips, almost as if she could still feel the touch left there.

Bandita had stolen a kiss from her. Perhaps she had stolen something considerably more dangerous along with it. I want to see her again... The thought came far too easily. Would they meet again? Laxia frowned. She had responsibilities here, a reason for coming to LAW in the first place. Her family name had to be restored, and there were answers hidden within this place that she still needed to find. She could not afford to lose herself in sentiment.

“Get a hold of yourself...”

Yet another memory immediately betrayed that resolve. After the match, she had looked at Bandita and nearly said something before the referee interrupted them. Had he not stepped in, Laxia wondered what she might have said. Worse, she wondered what she might have done. Heat crept into her cheeks, and she covered her face with one hand. Eventually, she peered through her fingers at the ceiling.

This was reality. Just as she carried her own circumstances and obligations, Bandita surely had a life and purpose of her own. Even so, Laxia could not shake what she had felt inside that ring. The freedom. The thrill. All her life she had been surrounded by expectations of dignity, composure, and how a proper lady ought to carry herself. In the ring, she had been allowed to cast all of it aside. She could fight until she was breathless, tumble across the canvas, grit her teeth, cling to her opponent, and throw herself wholeheartedly into every collision.

It had been far more exhilarating than she expected. Dangerously so. Almost addicting. And at the center of it all had been Bandita. The looks exchanged between them, the touches that spoke before words could, the warmth of their bodies pressed together, and those strange moments when they seemed to draw closer even while struggling to force each other away.

Those emotions had not disappeared simply because the bell had rung. They had only settled somewhere beneath the surface, waiting until the silence afterward to surge through her again. Laxia's thighs unconsciously drew closer together as a faint shiver ran across her shoulders.

“Mmm.....”

She squeezed her eyes shut before slowly sitting up. Her knee pads dropped to the floor, followed by the gear around her arms, until she suddenly paused and glanced around the room. No one was there. The door was closed. Only after confirming that did Laxia sink back into the couch. Her loosened wrestling attire had long since lost its pristine appearance, while tangled strands of orange hair framed her face and shoulders. Even her breathing had yet to fully settle.

Closing her eyes again, Laxia slowly ran a hand along her arm, over her shoulder and chest, then down across her abdomen. Places Bandita had grabbed. Places she had pressed against. Places where their bodies had met.

Her fingertips traced those lingering reminders as flashes of the match returned one after another. Just when she thought the sensations had finally faded, something stirred beneath the surface once more and spread quietly through her body. Laxia swallowed a soft breath.

[CyanDimitrik]

Basking in the praise of a foreign audience was amazing. Spectacular, even. Unique in a way Bandita couldn't have predicted. It felt welcoming, inviting, thrilling, like being the new kid in school but everyone liking you. And though Laxia had left Bandita long before the Latina would have a chance to make a graceful exit, the ginger certainly hadn't escaped her thoughts. She caught that turn back, Laxia framed by fans reaching over the barricades with nothing but hopes of touching greatness.

She couldn't see the details of her face at that distance, not really. But she felt them. She was looking back at her. Maybe Laxia could feel it, too. Maybe it just looked like Bandita smiling and waving to the crowd.

The Latina skipped to one side of the ring, placed her palm to her lips, and blew a kiss out over the audience. Then another blown kiss on the opposite side, ensuring all of Japan's countrymen knew how much their support meant to her. And though her energy felt high, spiking, her heart even racing in her chest, her body did not want to go through the extra effort of exiting the ring in any kind of flashy manner. Bending over to hold the middle rope, she slides one leg over the cable to place down on the apron, then the other. Nice and easy. Smooth. Practiced with years of blended practical experience and training.

A plop down to her frilly boots later, and she's striding up the ramp with a confident sway to her hips. She drifts from side to side, slapping high-fives and doling out playful fistbumps, and absolutely ignoring any stray comments about that kiss. Nope, she doesn't hear those! No. Each time it's mentioned and she doesn't hear it shut up shut up, her heart lances upwards into her throat again.

Once past the curtain, she gives a perky little forearm-bump with the technician in charge of entrances and exits, an approving nod from management, and then...

...off into obscurity. Bandita moves down the hall, away from others. Her hat and whip, a stagehand will retrieve for her. She should go back to her dressing room to wait for it. She should do that and not think about what happened in that ring. Not think about those piercing blue eyes, that refined, beautifully striking figure, the elegant face, the way the outfit seemed to flow with her movement, how it all worked together to speak towards one single, unified concept: a princess.

Bandita's hand had snuck upwards to lightly press against the window of bared chest above the curve of her breasts without her realizing it. A small smile was playing on the corners of her lips, her gaze drifting shut in the memory. She had to've looked smitten. And then, the kiss they shared - the heat of it, the intensity, the passion...! She knows Laxia felt it, she must have! She didn't reject her! ..right?

The eyes open again.

---

There's a soft knock on Laxia's dressing room door.

Even if Bandita's waist wasn't still aching from the stretch and punishment she'd endured during the match, it would still be tied in knots. Would Laxia even still be here? Would she tell her to go away, now that there's been time to cool off? The girl is caught between trying to look confident and cheerful, and unmistakably nervous. Her hands fidget together behind her back, her alternating which is at the fore with squirming energy, and she worried her teeth over her bottom lip.

The Latina has not changed clothes at all. She's every bit the luchadora Laxia saw in the ring. Just, minus hat, whip, and flamenco skirt.

[Letta]

Laxia found herself sinking once more into the sensation spreading quietly through her body. With her eyes closed and her body resting against the couch, her fingertips slowly traced across her abdomen. The faint sensations she had thought were finally fading seemed to stir again beneath her touch, and her thighs unconsciously drew inward until they pressed together.

“Mmm..."

A small shiver passed through her shoulders. Her tangled orange hair clung loosely around her face and neck, while her loosened wrestling attire looked nothing like the carefully composed appearance she usually maintained. At the moment, however, Laxia hardly cared.

Then came a faint sound from beyond the door. It was quickly swallowed by the distant noise of the arena. Or perhaps she could have heard it perfectly well. Her attention was simply far too occupied elsewhere.

Completely unaware, Laxia sank deeper into the couch. One hand still rested against her body, and her thighs remained drawn closely together. Her attire remained loose, her hair thoroughly disheveled, and she made no effort to compose herself.

Still unaware that someone was standing just outside, waiting for an answer, Laxia simply closed her eyes again.

[CyanDimitrik]

Oh, if only she knew. If only Bandita knew.

But she doesn't. She continues to wait outside the door, nervously uncertain. No sound coming from inside that she can hear, with the distant roar of the audience. She glances to the handle, brow knit. It should be okay, right? If Laxia were napping, she could just... sneak in to say hi. Right? That's fine, isn't it? She's a bandit, after all!

Ah! Or maybe she's hurt! Maybe she's hurt more than she realized!

The Latina's eyes widen in concern, her mind swirling with rapid imagination-fed images of having gone far too rough on the debutante. If she'd actually broken that beautiful girl, it'd be a travesty! Wrestling is meant to hurt, but not long after the match! She was smiling earlier, surely that was fine!

...Unless she caused brain damage! Oh no! Oh, Dios mio!

Bandita grabs the doorhandle and quickly turns it to let herself in! "Laxia? Are you in here? I was just wanting to- oh."

She cuts off suddenly upon her gaze landing on the more relaxed state of the ginger. Not that she could really tell too much with everything, but she was clearly lounging! "S-s-sorry!," she blurts, quickly quarter-turning away and zipping her gaze to the corner of the ceiling. Nope! Not looking at her until given some kind of permission!

"You didn't answer! I was worried something might have happened to you!"

Which, she is now suddenly and overwhelmingly realizing, is estúpida.

[Letta]

Laxia was still completely lost in thought as her fingertips slowly traced over her body. Even with her eyes closed, Bandita remained vivid in her mind. The ever-changing look in her eyes behind the mask, the way her expression shifted between playful and serious, and then…

Those lips. I want to see her again. With that thought, Laxia slowly opened her eyes. And there she was. Ah…! Bandita…! Her face immediately brightened, as though her thoughts had somehow summoned the luchadora into existence.

What perfect timing. That delight lasted only a few seconds. “…Bandita...?” Her eyes widened. “…What?” Only then did Laxia become painfully aware of her own appearance.

Her hair was completely undone. Her wrestling attire hung loose around her body. And until only a moment ago, her hand had been slowly wandering across herself “…?!” Her face turned bright red in an instant.

How long had she been there? How much had she seen? More importantly, how had she even gotten in here…? Then Laxia remembered. She had been so exhausted that she had forgotten to lock the door.

The moment Bandita hurriedly turned away, Laxia snapped back to reality as well. She quickly pulled her loosened attire back into place, hurriedly adjusting the displaced fabric before covering her burning face with both hands.

“Y-you… look over here!” Despite ordering Bandita to turn around, her face remained completely flushed. “H-How did you even get in here?!” Of course, Laxia had no idea that Bandita had politely knocked first.

From her perspective, the woman standing before her had simply barged into her locker room without warning like the bandit she claimed to be. Clinging to that thought helped her regain at least a fraction of her composure, and her familiar haughty expression gradually returned beneath the lingering blush.

Spoiler

Clearly, she was not the one at fault here. The intruder was. “My whole body is aching… There isn’t a single place that doesn’t hurt.” She muttered irritably while awkwardly rubbing at her arm and side.

The motion could not have looked more different from the slow, natural way she had been touching herself only moments earlier. Now she was suddenly pressing at random spots as though checking for soreness, putting on such a painfully unconvincing performance that doing nothing at all might have been more believable.

[CyanDimitrik]

The gaze remained glued to that point in the ceiling. And try as she might, she could not get that image out of her head - what she had just seen. She wasn't even sure what she'd seen. Laxia, beautiful as ever even in her disheveled state, lightly drawing fingers over her own midsection, seemingly lost in reverie. As if thoroughly enjoying it. As if daydreaming, fresh after their match.

She's demanded to look over. The Latina steals a quick precautionary peek first, and upon realizing everything is.. ahem, secure on her person again, she turns to put her gaze on her. "'De door was unlocked!," she yelps. "See!?"

Turning sharply, Bandita helpfully rotates the handle. This prove nothing, of course, but who the Hell is thinking straight right now?

Releasing the handle, she spins back around to Laxia. "I, um-- sorry- it-- I mean--," she stammers. Those wide, expressive eyes behind the mask blink a couple times. A part of her hates that Laxia is in pain. But another, louder part of her is terribly amused at the complaining. Even the haughtiness of it, the absolute pout on display, it's beyond adorable. And just that quickly, the ginger is right back to earning a bright, albeit very bemused and confident smile.

"Of course everything is sore!," she declares.

With a smart little turn of her heel, she nudges the door fully shut behind her. It latches with a soft 'ka-chunk'.

"You got in 'de ring with me! And...!"

Bandita strides across the room, as if she were somehow inexplicably invited by now. Her path comes to an end just before the couch and its occupant, whereupon she leans forward to brace her hands upon her black kneepads. The bright hazel-green eyes are determined to catch those beautiful blues with a little tilt of her head. Cheeks flushed, body visibly beaten and battered, but still with that smile; a pure happiness to pursue those eyes again.

"...you fought your hardest! So you earned it. Being sore after wrestling means you gave it your all!"

The gaze then dips. A conspiratorial look down along Laxia's figure to her midsection, then back up to her face. Her gaze half-lids, impish playfulness accenting her smile.

"Were you, um... thinking... about 'de match..?," she asks, carefully accusing.

[Letta]

Bandita even went so far as to turn the handle and prove that the door had been unlocked, but Laxia only rolled her eyes. Whether the excuse was true or not changed nothing. She had seen something she was not supposed to see. And of all people, it had to be her. Of course, Laxia was happy to see her again, but...

When Bandita responded to her complaints of soreness, the look on her face seemed less concerned than knowingly amused. That shameless little thief...! Laxia bristled inwardly, though judging by the faint curve at the corner of her lips, she did not seem to dislike that infuriating smile nearly as much as she should have. Then came the sound.

*Ka-chunk*

The click of the door shutting seemed unusually loud in the quiet room. Laxia’s shoulders gave the slightest twitch. She pressed her lips together and swallowed. It felt almost like her heart had dropped, yet there was nothing fearful about it. The sensation was far more dangerous than that, and all the more thrilling for it.

That tension spread through her body with every step Bandita took toward her. By the time the luchadora stopped directly in front of the couch and leaned forward with her hands braced on her knees, Laxia found herself wondering whether the pounding of her heart was loud enough for Bandita to hear.

She kept her prim expression intact. The faint smile betraying her, however, was harder to hide. And when Bandita’s gaze briefly dipped downward, Laxia took the opportunity to study her in return. A firm, well-trained body. Laxia knew at a glance how much sweat, discipline, and time it must have taken to build and maintain it. She had spent enough of her own life training to recognize those efforts immediately. Perhaps that was part of what drew her in so much.

When their eyes met again, Bandita’s were filled with unmistakable mischief. Had she been thinking about the match? The question sounded almost as though Bandita already knew the answer and simply wanted to hear Laxia confess it. But Laxia was hardly some helpless maiden prepared to raise both hands and surrender everything she owned to a thief.

Instead, she moved first. The moment Bandita leaned in close, Laxia suddenly caught her by the shoulder and waist and pulled her forward. The unexpected motion tipped Bandita’s balance toward the couch, and Laxia immediately took advantage of the opening. She slipped in close and settled herself atop Bandita’s thighs.

“The match... Of course I was thinking about it.”

In the space of only a few seconds, their positions had completely reversed. Now Laxia was the one looking down at her. She caught her hair tie between her teeth and swept the loose orange strands back with both hands, quickly gathering them into a ponytail before lowering her gaze to Bandita once more.

“But what about you...?” Laxia tilted her head slightly. “What exactly were you thinking when you came all the way in here?” Her index finger touched lightly against Bandita’s chest. It slowly traced upward, passing over her collarbone before reaching the tip of her chin. Laxia nudged it upward just enough to keep Bandita’s attention fixed on her, while her other hand planted itself against the back of the couch beside the luchadora’s head.

Her expression remained haughty, but the playful glint in her eyes was impossible to hide. Like a noblewoman personally interrogating a thief she had finally caught red-handed. “So tell me. What did you come here to steal this time?” Laxia’s eyes narrowed. “What were you planning to touch, meddle with… and take from me without permission?”

[CyanDimitrik]

Bandita felt she had every right to get that answer from her. After all, if she were thinking about the match, then that would mean she was thinking about her when she touched herself like that. Seemingly so deliberately. Which, of course, would mean they were thinking about each other. In that daydreamy state, indulgently reflecting on the other, the sensation of their entanglement, the magnetic quality between them...

For once, Bandita is taken completely off-guard at a time when she's thoroughly confident she has the other on the backfoot. She finds the two positions have swapped, now seated back against the couch, with the ginger perched upon her lap. Is this what it feels like when she abruptly turns the tables on people? This sort of dizzying, mind-blanking sensation?

Oh, but just as quickly, in that moment, she felt Laxia's hands on her again. And that's all it took to make Bandita's heart begin racing anew with excitement. It no longer mattered whether the two were grappled in competition or- or whatever this was that was happening, having that contact with her was enough equal parts fascination and taboo to cause her pulse to spike. Bandita's hands react instinctively, moving to rest at either side of the other girl's hips - half over the material of her trunks, half upon her bare waist, naturally lending a little downward pressure to try to get her more settled upon her. The more she can experience of her, feel that familiar press of her weight, more skin to skin with her.

But it isn't only that. Laxia now has that... aristocratic aloofness again. But there's more to it. It's... self-aware. It's playful.

She watches Laxia affix her hair into that ponytail again, tilting her head to look past her shoulder to watch. The ponytail seemed so elegant, yet sporty at the same time. Not with her dumb, probably kiddish hairbow and low ponytail, right?

The hand planting to the couch beside her head seizes Bandita's attention again.

That question draws her gaze back, suddenly very aware of the mask she's wearing. A bandit, talking to a noble. A rogue, looking to steal something from a princess. It feels like a setup. It has to be a setup. Not once did Laxia indicate she was anything less than sharp or cunning. That idea sparks a low, gentle fire to begin burning inside her. Something bold, something daring, something that's catching and spreading with the Latina's latent passion like eager kindling.

Her right hand lifts, cupping behind Laxia's shoulder. Her left hand slides a little higher, settling into the smooth curvature of her waist. Her gaze trains steadily no those brilliant blue pools, flicking focus between them. When she speaks, the voice is soft and sweet.

"'Dere's no treasure or jewel worth more to me tonight than 'de heart beating in your chest, princesa..."

She leans forward, closer to her 'captor' - enough so that her chest nearly touches her. Her warm breath breezes against the other girl's chin, and the familiar sensation of Laxia's breath against hers has her mind reeling with yearning.

"I've never been like 'dis with anyone," she admits. "And- I came here to tell you..." She swallows. "...I want to see you again. More. In 'de ring. Out of 'de ring. Right now. Later. If I could steal something tonight..."

The Latina uptilts her head slightly, her gaze half-lidding as she nears centimeter by centimeter.

"...it would be another kiss."

With that, the final few degrees of distance between their lips would be closed. Bandita's lips press to Laxia's with purpose, soft at first, but soon boiling with heated, unleashed passion. No cameras to worry about here, no audience to judge them, no fear of what people might think of her doing this, now, with her. The kiss is as unrestrained as her heart in this moment, eliciting a shuddered breath from the girl, softly pulsing against Laxia's cheek during the exchange.

Or, alternatively, Laxia could evade, pull back, or block her!