#fullnelson

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

Greg's smile never vanished despite the crushing pressure around his head. Wyatt's thighs flexed and tightened with every breath, as the Beta poured more strength into the hold. Most men would have been focused entirely on escaping. Greg found himself studying, even admiring Wyatt's skill, cataloging every adjustment Wyatt made, every shift of his hips, every subtle change in pressure. Wyatt was impressive, and his legs were incredibly strong, but Greg had found the exploit he was looking for. Greg planted both hands against the mat and twisted violently toward the pressure rather than away from it. Wyatt's eyes widened immediately. "What the fuck?!" Greg looked at Wyatt and winked before his shoulder drove forward, his hips rotating hard, forcing Wyatt to either maintain the scissors or protect his position. That tiny hesitation in Wyatt committing was all Greg needed. He ripped his head free and rolled clear as the room erupted around them. Wyatt surged after Greg with the same aggressive intensity that had made him one of the most feared fighters in The Pack. Greg had barely finished rolling backward when two hundred and forty pounds of ginger muscle crashed directly into him. Their chests collided with a deep, bone-jarring thud that echoed through the warehouse. The impact drove the air from Greg's lungs as Wyatt's solid frame pressed him hard against the mat. For a split second, there was nothing but the shock of contact, the muscle slamming into muscle, Wyatt's broad chest flattening against Greg's as the Beta used his weight to pin Greg down and control the space between them. Before Greg could recover, powerful arms were already fighting for position by trying to turn Greg onto his stomach. Soon, Wyatt's right arm shot beneath one of his. His left arm threaded beneath the other. Greg felt the raw strength in those limbs as they wrapped around him, felt Wyatt's muscles flex and tighten with purpose. His hands locked behind Greg's head in one fluid, relentless motion.

The hold locked tight. Greg's arms were pinned, elevated, useless. His shoulders screamed as Wyatt's biceps pressed against the sides of his neck, trapping his head between two mountains of muscle. Wyatt's chest remained flush against his back, the Beta's body a cage of strength that left no room for escape. As Wyatt's forearms dug deeper, Greg felt every flex of Wyatt's shoulders as the Beta cinched the hold tighter, pouring his full weight and power into the position. “Right where you belong, beneath me.” The words rumbled directly against Greg's ear.

"Little early to celebrate."

Wyatt laughed, the sound vibrating through both their bodies before the pressure increased again. He pulled backward while simultaneously driving forward with his chest, forcing Greg's posture upright and sending a sharp protest through both shoulder joints. Greg grunted, not from panic or fear, but from respect. The man was absurdly strong. Wyatt felt the acknowledgment immediately. His grin widened. "Thought you were gonna carry me out of here."

"I will." Greg planted his feet against the mat and drove backward. The movement caught Wyatt slightly off guard. The Beta's grip shifted as Greg forced them both backward across the mat, still locked in the full nelson. The entire warehouse watched as Greg began driving the larger man backward despite the full nelson still being locked tightly around him. Wyatt responded by pouring even more strength into the hold, his biceps swelling as he attempted to halt Greg's advance. And Wyatt was discovering exactly why Greg had become one of the most respected fighters in The Pack. Most men would have been trapped. Most men would have been fighting the hold, completely on defense. Greg was fighting the man, still on offense.

"You know," Wyatt said between breaths as he tightened the full nelson again, "you're heavier than you look."

Viking applies a powerful full nelson hold on the small but feisty Fang, lifting him clear off the ground and showing off the kid’s singlet bulge for the fans. It won’t be long before he taps out.

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

Rei’s grin sharpened as he suddenly dropped his weight, bent his knees, and twisted his hips. Eric’s pressure met open air. Before Eric could compensate, Rei pivoted beneath his own captured arms, snapping his head low and spinning behind him in a single fluid surge. Eric’s eyes widened at Rei's speed and agility. His hold was gone, replaced by a blur of movement. Then he felt it. Rei’s arms hooked under his, hands locking tight behind his head in a mirror image of his own hold. The full nelson was reversed. Rei’s forearms wedged upward with brutal precision, catching Eric’s neck and shoulders in a sharp torque that forced his chest open. He planted his boots and pulled, muscles corded and alive as he hoisted Eric up, lifting him off the mat by sheer upper-body power.

Eric’s boots left the canvas. For a heartbeat, disbelief crossed his face. The realization of being suspended in the air hit with the stretch, his traps and neck screaming under the pressure as Rei’s arms cranked tighter. Eric tried to break free but found himself struggling with no leverage while he was left dangling in Rei’s hold. Eric was immediately impressed with how controlling the full nelson was when the one in the hold was lifted into the air. He could feel his own weight being used against him as the strain immediately started pulling on his neck and shoulders.

Rei locked in, his stance solid, back straight, every muscle from calves to forearms engaged in perfect coordination. His chest and core pressed into Eric’s back as he leaned in, forcing him forward into the hold. The strain poured through both men as a test of structure and endurance, more than brute strength played out. Eric grimaced, his teeth clenched as the burn crawled down his shoulders and spine. Every breath drew a raw rasp from his throat as he fought for leverage, trying to drop his weight. But with his feet unable to even graze the mat, there was nowhere to go. He could feel the sheer steadiness and rock-solid frame behind him. Rei’s control wasn’t wild or frantic; it was deliberate, exacting, a craftsman at work.

Gravity was now an equal tormentor of Eric, along with Rei, as Rei pressed hard against Eric’s neck while lifting as high as he could. Eric’s shoulders screamed as he tried to twist an elbow free. Rei was far stronger than Eric realized. Rei’s physique was misleading. Eric had figured Rei was strong. One would have to be in order to be so successful in the underground pro wrestling scene; however, feeling Rei’s strength was completely different than seeing it. Rei had power, control, and finesse. A dangerous combination. 

Rei held him firm, his voice low and even, cutting through the heavy sound of exertion. “See, Eric? This is what I meant earlier. It’s not just strength.  It’s also rhythm, timing.” He gave the hold a subtle crank that drew a guttural sound from Eric. “You’ve got to have both in the ring.”

Eric strained, boots scraping for purchase against Rei’s legs. The pressure on his neck built like a vice, the pain sharp and constant. Rei was every much the strategist Eric was. Eric smiled. This would be the challenge he had hoped for. 

Rei pressed in closer, flexing his pecs and abs against Eric’s back, his tone half-taunt, half-praise. “You fight with your head as much as your body. That’s rare. Makes this fun.” His grin flickered, eyes glinting as he tightened his grip again. “Let’s see how well you think when I shake things up and rattle that head of yours.”