Blaise Cameron vs. Aaliyah Jackson - Best 2 of 3 Falls

[BlackAkuma]

By the time Aaliyah spotted him, it was already too late. Much too late.

It only took a few seconds, but in a match like this, a few seconds was an eternity. She caught sight of him with his back turned her way, and she had a moment of relaxation, thinking he’d miscalculated, that she could close the distance and get the jump on him before he could recover. She pushed up, started to move in-

And then he was coming her way, moving back in a handspring. Tumbling her way, spiraling through the air at high speed. By the time she realized what was about to happen, his foot was soaring through the air, heading towards her neck, and-

Crack!

The blow filled her world with whiteness. She arched her back, opened her mouth in a silent cry, then fell to her knees, then her chest, as she reached up and rubbed the sore spot.

[CyanDimitrik]

Stillness. That's what the ring is suddenly filled with. Hot, panting, ragged stillness, with Aaliyah lying on her chest, and Blaise on hands and knees. The audience is stomping their feet, clapping, shouting for both fighters.

Blaise turns around on the mat, one hand moving to her waist and another hand setting to her shoulder to roll the girl over onto her back. And from there, the hands switch up; one reaches for her nearest ankle, the other for her nearest wrist. And once he raises to his feet, he pulls to position her on the mat, perpendicular to the corner post she'd just lept from. The entire audience can recognize the setup. He's preparing something massive. Something showstopping. He's preparing to put her away in full finality.

Once she's placed, he releases her limbs to let her lie on her back, and he turns to the turnbuckle. His approach is a stagger, and he smacks his hands hard to the ropes a couple times, urging the audience to enter a clapping rhythm. Then, with every tired muscle in his body, he hauls himself up, stepping onto the middle ropes, then another step to perch, balanced shakily on the top.

Cameras flash in myriad sparkle throughout the arena, Blaise glistening body on full display. He thrusts a fist into the air as a final salute to the crowd, a quick glance over his shoulder to check his trajectory, and then mentally bracing.

A breath. And he scrunches himself down to leap mightily from his roost. His body corkscrews through the air, a backflip evolving into a frontflip, and aiming to bring the full force of his weight and momentum to come crashing down stomach-first across Aaliyah's belly. Abdominals crushing abdominals. The phoenix splash finisher, appropriately enough, named Flashpoint.

[BlackAkuma]

Oof. That sucked. That sucked hard.

Of course, there was no world in which smacked in the head like that wouldn’t hurt, but Aaliyah was typically used to taking that sort of damage. Even before she stepped into the squared circle, she was no stranger to pain and had been in more than her fair share of fights - usually cleaning up Yo-Yo’s messes, that sort of thing. In normal circumstances, she could’ve walked this off.

Not today, though. Blaise had left her stupified with that one, with all the damage she’d incurred finally catching up to her. She was only vaguely aware of being dragged around the ring and placed like a piece of furniture, gingerly slid into a specific position.

Even with her brain malfunctioning, she could still process what was about to happen. The audience’s cheers were more than enough, and she demanded her body move. Just to roll over, preferably out of the ring, enough to buy her a few moments…

It wasn’t happening. And as her eyes locked on Blaise in midflight, she already knew the unfortunate truth - the match was over.

Down he came. Hard. His body hit like heat seeking missile, right on target, crashing down on her with explosive impact. If Aaliyah had the breath for it, she would’ve cried out in pain, but instead all she could do was lay under him and gasp, desperately trying to refill her lungs and stay awake despite all the pain.

[CyanDimitrik]

The impact is hard on both ends; the act of stretching one's body taut with the intention of landing stomach-first across someone else's stomach is what would be considered profoundly stupid in anything but a professional wrestling ring. It doesn't do anything to lessen the recoil. Even with an abdomen as chiseled and sleek as Blaise's, abs compress against abs, forcing an inward cringe as he lies there over her.

Of course, Aaliyah would be feeling it so much worse.

But there it was. Immediately after the shock of pain from landing across her belly, Blaise could feel it - the fight leaving her. It's enough euphoria to make him forget that pain, that ache, and to relish in his position over the dark-skinned beauty lying beneath him. He scoots into her just enough to rest his sweating midsection fully across hers, unabashedly lying skin over skin, feeling her breathe beneath him. His left arm reaches for her left arm to pull it in closer to her side, all the better to pin it down. His right arm reaches back, vaguely gathering her left thigh in the baggy cargo pantleg, just to lift her knee upwards slightly, the back of his hand resting between her legs.

And there it is. The final position for the evening. Cameras drowning the sweat-glistened pair in a torrent of flashing lights. Blaise rests slumped over her, tiredly holding her body down primarily just with his weight. The leg and arm? Mostly for a show of dominance; not only for the crowd of riotous onlookers, but for Aaliyah, to tell her she's pinned. She's his. He earned his position atop her tonight. And feeling her athletic body pinned beneath him is exhilarating.

What would her attitude be like after the count? He has no idea. So he's reveling in the sensation of her pinned figure while he can. It's indulgent. A guilty kind of indulgence, maybe, but one he fought for, and one he makes no apologies for.

The referee-girl drops beside the pair, out of the way of the cameras. Her hand comes down to the mat near Aaliyah's head.

"ONE!"

[BlackAkuma]

Ugh. Aaliyah hated this part.

Not so much the losing itself. She could handle losing, it had happened to her before. Not too often, but enough that she had long gotten past being the sort of person who cried about. Win or lose, all she asked for was a fair match and credit where it was due. Blaise gave that to her. She and he’d gone to war, thrown their entire arsenal at each other, and he’d managed to come out on top. Today.

No, what really ground her gears about this part of the match was the waiting. Laying on your back, barely able to move, knowing what was going to happen. You sat there, got folded up, and waited as the referee slid over for the count…

”2…!”

…and yeah, you knew what was coming. You could try to fight it, try to squirm, but there was only so much the human body could take. That single second could stretch on for an eternity, and there was nothing you could do but watch, as the inevitable happened.

”3…!”

And there it was.

Aaliyah instantly deflated beneath Blaise, accepting the loss with a long sigh, as her body slipped out of combat. She’d have something to say, soon enough. Congratulations to give, sure. For now, though, she just wanted to breathe.

[CyanDimitrik]

Blaise isn't surprised to feel Aaliyah's body lying limp beneath him. He knows he could lift her leg higher, almost like planting a flag over her defeated form; in fact, he tries to, just to give the cameras a slightly more dramatic spectacle of him covering across her. But the counts marching on and finding no fight left in the girl, that he could tell from the moment the impact settled.

The third count lands.

*DING* *DING* *DING*

His music fires up on the speakers, the arena awash in his classic rock anthem. Blaise relaxes his arm and lowers her leg to rest again, as the rest of his body does much the same. Rest. She breathes beneath him, gently pressing into him with every inhale and easing again with each exhale. And he, the same. Taking stock of his body, he's battered and beaten up. She pinned him first in this match, and it wasn't an easy one. He's carrying all the weight and fatigue from their extensive and excruciatingly physical contest. And now, he simply lies over his conquered opponent.

The referee kneels beside him, trying to coax him to move. But the audience can see it. The referee-girl can see it, too. He needs a second to recuperate and gather his strength again. But finally, he draws back enough to peel his sweat-slickened skin from Aaliyah's, leaving her to lie on the mat alone as he rests on his knees beside her.

The referee quickly takes the opportunity to lift his arm and motion towards him.

"Your winner by pinfall! Blaise! The Phoenix! Cameron~!"

He flashes a bright, tired smile out at the crowd, and when his wrist is released, it flops back to his side. Rather than get up, however, he braces one hand to the mat beside Aaliyah's head, the other hand lightly settling to the girl's waist, and he leans in close; lips just over her ear to be easier heard over the music.

"How 'bout it?," he asks. "Is Meemaw gonna Kill Bill me?"

Will she even remember the joke? He lets it hang for just a couple seconds before adding:

"You were incredible."

[BlackAkuma]

And breathe. And breathe. And breathe.

Aaliyah was coming down from the adrenaline spike all at once, her body reverting to its natural state. That meant dealing with all the niggling things that she could ignore when she was amped up. Stuff like the way she was absolutely drenched in sweat. How frazzled her hair was. Oh, and the absolutely excruciating pain she was dealing with.

It wasn’t just that last move, either, though that was likely 20% of it, give or take. No, it was the culmination of everything she’d suffered over the…god, how long had she been wrestling? It felt like an hour, but she knew that wasn’t right, she would’ve died halfway through.

Aaliyah’s eyes had been closed, contemplating, when she felt Blaise’s hand on her waist, gracing the bare sin of her midriff. They shot open and wide, just in time to see him coming in to whisper at her ear. It took her a few seconds for her to recognize his callback, but when she did, it brought out the laughter - well, as much as she could stand before her chest hurt.

”No telling, sorry. That’s the price of winning. Sleep with one eye open.” She smirked and settled back down on the canvas. ”And thanks. You were half bad, either.” She gave him a quick thumbs up. ”Go ahead, bask in the glory. I’m just gonna lay here a little longer. Drink in the atmosphere. I’m good.”

[CyanDimitrik]

By this point, Blaise wasn't going to internally quibble over whether or not he had touching privileges on the other girl. They'd spent the better part of... God knows how long grappling and wrestling. For some, the moment the bell rang, personal bubbles went back into effect. For Blaise - at least as far as Aaliyah was concerned - there were certain social mores now passed. Besides. He pinned her, he won the match. He wants to touch her skin again, this time in a marginally more loaded context, he decided he will.

The laugh was the proof positive that he was hoping for; she isn't holding a grudge that he can see. Even after what some may see as public humiliation, he can make her smile. That's the real win. And the fact that she isn't so prideful about it is an even more attractive quality.

"It's like that, huh?," Blaise asks; she may not be able to see the grin, but she can hear it.

His head lifts, now to finally look at her face. Hair matted in places against his brow, bright blue gaze resting on her brown eyes below, lips parted for each heavily panted breath. His thumb shifts slightly, brushing lightly against the sweat-glazed abdominal beneath his hand.

"Nnnaaah."

The hand slides further around her waist. The other arm scoops low, attempting to hook behind her shoulders. And unless she manages to squirm free, he means to slowly haul himself up to his feet, supporting her weight against himself to stand. And if successful, she's immediately drawn into a heated, unapologetically sweaty embrace, lightly squeezing her body into his with his head tilted close beside hers in renewed body contact.

[BlackAkuma]

A shower. No, fuck that - a bath. She didn’t have a tub in her apartment room, the only one was in Yo-Yo’s, but screw it, she paid most of the rent so she could pull rank and use the damned thing if she wanted. Once she got back home, she was going to draw a tub filled with the hottest, steamiest water, she was going to put on some music - Jazz, Lo-fi, anything without words - and just soak, until the water grew cold or she passed out, whichever came first, Likely the former.

It was a lovely thought, and no offense to Blaise, but it was the main one on her mind at the moment. That changed, however, when she noticed that his hand was still at her waist. And sliding lower. Precariously lower.

”What are you-”

She had little time to finish asking her rather pertinent question before he dipped down, got her by the shoulder and hauled her up along with him for a sweaty embrace, mashing their bodies together and catching her totally off guard. She stiffened at first, then softened as her arms came around him, returning the gesture.

”Um…nice choice of deodorant. What is that, Old Spice?”

[CyanDimitrik]

And naturally, the audience cheered. When two people slug it out and veritably rip into each other, a show of good sportsmanship and grace is well received - especially with a Japanese audience. Nevermind that both competitors are gaijin, it's the human experience they subscribe to.

Admittedly, it isn't the sole reason Blaise drew her up to her feet and into his arms. It was mostly that, rest assured! But like... 10% indulgent in the moment. 20%. 25%, whatever.

Blaise wants to respond with a quick whistle of the telltale ditty, but he's too breathless to do it. So instead, she gets her response in the form of an unseen smirk and fully felt tightening of his arms around her. Feeling the hug returned is nice; it's a good sign, even if she's acting too cool for it with her quippage!

But at last, the hold loosens enough to try to look back at her face. "Not a chance I'm about to bask alone," he says. "Not when you went three rounds with me."

The hand higher on her frame moves to her shoulder to helpfully guide her to his side while the other arm remains supportively around her waist, holding her steady against his side and presenting her to the crowd. His free hand raises in a fist for a few seconds, before sweeping in, motioning to the girl beside him.