The Nature Boy's Lair

Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me.

The moment the Beta tried another powerful roll, Greg felt the shift in weight distribution. Wyatt had found a small angle, a gap in the pressure. The ginger's hips exploded sideways with that same overwhelming strength that had torn through Greg's base earlier. For a split second, Greg's carefully maintained control began to slip. Wyatt's trapped shoulder rotated. His body turned. Freedom was inches away. Greg abandoned the simpler shoulder isolation immediately. He couldn't afford to lose position. Not against someone this strong. Not against someone this dangerous. Greg flowed with the movement instead of fighting it, using Wyatt's momentum against him. The pressure on the arm changed completely. Rather than pulling the shoulder backward, Greg began elevating it while simultaneously dragging Wyatt's head in the opposite direction with his other arm. The combination of forces caught Wyatt mid-escape and forced him flat against the canvas again before he could complete the roll. A low grunt escaped the ginger's throat. The sound sent heat through Greg's chest.

Greg settled behind him, one powerful thigh tracing along Wyatt's neck and shoulder blades while his other quad pressed firmly against Wyatt's latissimus dorsi. Wyatt's left arm was trapped along Greg's waist, pinned there by Greg's body and his own head. Greg's hands were clasped beneath Wyatt's jaw. Wyatt was, at first, shocked that Greg was not choking him, but then the pressure hit, and Wyatt realized that Greg was holding his head immobilized against that trapped arm while simultaneously cranking pressure through the shoulder joint. It was a miserable position to be caught in. Wyatt could feel the strain building from his shoulder into his upper back as Greg patiently pulled on his jawline. But he could also feel the heat of Greg's body against his. Could feel every breath the SEAL took. Could feel the controlled strength in every point of contact between them. The intimacy of it was maddening.

Several members of The Pack immediately recognized what was happening. Greg was using the same slow, methodical control that had made him so difficult to fight. There were murmurs if Greg would be able to break down Wyatt enough to win. Wyatt planted his free hand against the mat and tried to rise. Greg tightened everything. The arm lifted another inch. The reaction was immediate. Pain shot through Wyatt's shoulder joint, forcing him back down before he could generate any real momentum. His jaw clenched. The muscles across his broad back flexed visibly beneath the strain, pressing harder against Greg's chest.

Greg felt every movement. Felt every attempt to create space. Felt every ounce of strength Wyatt poured into the escape. Felt the way Wyatt's breathing changed when the pressure increased. And he grinned. Most men would have stopped trying by now. Most men would have conserved energy and waited for a better opportunity. Wyatt simply refused to accept being controlled. The Beta continued fighting every second he was underneath him, attacking every angle, searching for every weakness. Even now, trapped and stretched, the ginger felt coiled with violent potential. "You always this stubborn?"

Wyatt laughed despite the pressure. The sound vibrated through both their bodies. "You'll have to be more specific." The answer drew a snort from several spectators.

Greg shook his head and elevated the arm again. This time, Wyatt hissed through his teeth.

"There it is," Greg said quietly, his mouth close enough to Wyatt's ear that the words were almost intimate.

The grin immediately returned to Wyatt's face. "This? This is me warming up."

Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me.

Panic never came. Years of military training had taught him that every hold possessed a weakness. The trick was finding it before the pressure became overwhelming. While he continued to drive directly against Wyatt's forehead with his one hand, Greg shifted his hips toward the pressure. He rotated his shoulders at the same time, forcing Wyatt to make a subtle adjustment to maintain control. The movement was small, almost invisible to the crowd, but Greg felt the opening immediately. His trapped arm slid downward just enough to create a pocket of space between Wyatt's forearm and his neck. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Wyatt recognized the danger instantly and tightened his grip, his powerful arms flexing as he attempted to reposition the hold. But Greg was already moving, planting a foot against the mat and exploding sideways with everything he had. The scramble that followed was violent as both men rolled across the canvas in a tangle of limbs and muscle as control shifted by the second. Wyatt fought to stay attached to Greg's upper body, continually searching for a way to recover the submission, but Greg kept turning and changing angles, forcing the larger man to react rather than dictate. Sweat sprayed from their bodies as they battled for leverage, each adjustment immediately answered by the other.

Then Wyatt committed just a little too much weight in one direction. Greg saw it immediately. The opening was tiny, but it was there. He trapped Wyatt's wrist, surged forward, and used the momentum of the scramble against him. Suddenly, the Beta's balance disappeared. A roar erupted from the spectators as Wyatt was pulled forward and driven face-first toward the canvas before he could recover his base. Greg came up behind him without hesitation, one hand settling firmly on the back of Wyatt's head while the other captured his arm. Dropping his weight low, Greg forced Wyatt's shoulder toward the mat and immediately began isolating the joint. The position looked simple to an untrained observer, but several members of The Pack understood exactly how dangerous it was. Greg wasn't trying to pin Wyatt. Instead, he was systematically weakening the shoulder joint, which would weaken any of Wyatt's punches or holds.

Wyatt planted a hand and attempted to power upward, relying on the same overwhelming strength that had rescued him from difficult positions countless times before. Greg rode the movement smoothly, shifting his hips and redistributing his weight. Every effort Wyatt made to rise simply tightened the control and increased the pressure being directed into the shoulder. The muscles across Wyatt's back flexed visibly beneath the strain, and Greg could feel the furnace heat of the ginger's body beneath him, could feel the way Wyatt's breathing changed as he tested the limits of the hold.

Greg's expression remained calm, focused, methodical as he elevated Wyatt's captured arm another few inches and felt the joint tighten beneath the pressure. Not enough to injure him, but more than enough to remind the Beta that he was no longer the man dictating the pace of the fight. "For someone who talks so much about being the top," Greg said quietly, settling his weight deeper into the hold, "you certainly seem to enjoy being underneath me."