The Nature Boy's Lair

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

Greg's threat still hung in the air between them when Wyatt detonated. The bridge was violent enough to tear a roar from the spectators. Wyatt's hips surged upward with explosive force, his entire frame becoming a hydraulic press of muscle and determination as he attempted to launch Greg clear off him. The power lifted Greg several inches into the air, enough that for one breathless moment, the SEAL felt weightless. Before Greg could realize it, the controlled position transformed into a furious scramble. Legs tangled. Arms fought for inside control. Their foreheads collided hard enough to make Greg's vision spark. Sweat flew from both men as they battled for leverage, their bodies sliding against each other in ways that would have been obscene in any other context. The crowd erupted. This was no longer one man controlling the other. This was two elite fighters colliding at full speed, neither willing to concede, both refusing to break. Wyatt got to his side. Greg dragged him back down, his arm hooking around the ginger's waist. Wyatt got a knee underneath himself. Greg blocked it with his own leg, their thighs pressing together. Wyatt secured a grip around Greg's waist, his hands locking behind the small of Greg's back. Greg immediately answered with an overhook and head control, his arm wrapping around Wyatt's skull. Then Wyatt drove forward again with renewed fury, his entire body surging against Greg's control. The stalemate shattered.

This time, Wyatt didn't just bridge or twist. He exploded. Every muscle in his body fired at once, and the combined force was like being caught in a detonation. Greg felt himself lifted, felt his carefully maintained base torn apart by sheer overwhelming power. Christ, the man was strong. Stronger than Greg had anticipated. Stronger than anyone had a right to be. The realization sent a dark thrill through him. A thrill of hunger, not fear. The kind that made him want to beat Wyatt even more. Made him want to prove he could match this raw, overwhelming strength and come out on top. Greg fought, but he was moving, and not by choice, and most certainly not in the way he wanted. Wyatt used his strength to force Greg to his back and started to work. Wyatt's left arm snaked around the back of Greg's neck as he forced Greg's right arm to bend and go around his own neck. Wyatt then grabbed Greg's wrist with his left hand and pulled hard. Greg could feel the thick forearm pressing against the back of his neck while Wyatt's right hand grabbed Greg's right elbow and pushed with all his might to try and lock in a tight cobra clutch.

The pressure was immediate. Greg's own forearm compressed the side of his neck, constricting blood flow to his brain. His left hand shot up instinctively, palm finding Wyatt's forehead. He pushed. Hard. Using every ounce of strength in his arm and shoulder to drive Wyatt's head back, to create even an inch of space between that crushing forearm and his carotid artery. Wyatt's grip tightened in response, his left hand wrenching Greg's wrist while his right elbow drove upward, cinching the cobra clutch impossibly tighter. Wyatt shifted. Just slightly. Just enough to angle his head, to turn his face toward Greg's despite the choke locked between them. Their eyes met, and in that moment, the warehouse seemed to disappear. There was only this. Only them. "You're mine," Wyatt growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against Greg's cheek. The words weren't a threat. They were a claim. A promise. A confession wrapped in violence.

Source: Wrestler4Hire

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