Quick Match: Piledriver Punishment

“Waitwaitwait–watch this!”

Colt jabbed his finger towards the dinky television set–perched on a ringside stool in the corner of the practice room, and surrounded by a growing number of empty beer bottles. Spike and Buck, sitting eager-eyed and attentive, flanked the rambunctious cowboy. It was a quieter, rainy night at the ranch, and the boys felt like letting off some steam with some beers. Knowing Colt’s penchant for memory lane, and finding his larger-than-life commentary all the more interesting, Spike convinced Buck to join him in watching a few of Colt’s old matches. 

Buck, who had grown up watching his dad kick ass–and was content to never again having to sit through his old man reliving his glory days–agreed to the impromptu viewing…for two reasons: as much as he would never admit it, any time spent with his old man was well spent, and two, Spike was one of his two main crushes. He’d considered inviting Rosa as well, but she’d taken to a ladies night with the other spellbreaking gals, and no doubt they were all getting into much more mischief than the three men nerding out over old spellbreaking matches.

Spike and Buck leaned in to get a better view of the jumpy cassette tape, one of Colt’s past performances. Colt had been in his prime for this match, though Spike would be the first to argue that the lightning-slinger was still very much at the peak of his performances. He was always a sight to behold on screen! His opponent, a strapping, British bloke in a butcher’s singlet–with a real, throwback style strongman gimmick–took a mighty swing at the Texan, ready to knock his block off. Colt ducked under his arm and, with expertise, wrenched it behind his back. Before the strongman could react to the super fast reversal, the muscle magi delivered a mighty electric shock to the British brute, bringing him to his knees.

“These old school dudes were so lame looking,” Buck laughed, adjusting his glasses and tipping his beer bottle to the TV set for emphasis. He nodded to his father, who clearly enjoyed reliving his glory days.

Colt cocked an eyebrow at his mischievous–magickless–but artistically talented son. “You callin’ your old man lame, boy?”

Buck, around Spike’s age, laughed, and gave his dad a get-out-of-jail grin. If there was one person in the spellbreaking school who didn’t fear Colt’s wrath, it was his own blood. “I didn’t say that. But still…all those rhinestones, dad? And I turned out to be the queer one?”

Spike shushed his companions, nearly spilling beer on his navy-striped t-shirt. “Guys, shush! This is the best part!”

Colt beamed at his young pupil–who was also his biggest fan. “You see this one before, have ya?”

“Only like a million times!” Spike said, basking in the glow of his hero. Behind Colt, dark-haired Buck just laughed and rolled his eyes. It was rare seeing the two together, mostly because of their busy schedules. Though it was a pleasant sight, Spike still couldn’t believe how father and son were completely different contrasts to each other. Colt, tall and mighty, looked like Thor’s handsome, redneck cousin.

Buck was like the cross between a country hipster and the quintessential boy next store…with a dungeon in his basement. While his dad ran the family business, Buck– unable to spellbreak even if he wanted to–helped his dad out as the media guy, applying his own ‘magickal powers’ of illustration to almost every poster and flier in the Global Spellbreaking Alliance. Spike was turned on by his talent. Buck was a gentle soul…with a dash of mischievous sadism for good measure. By now, however, Spike had given up on winning Buck’s affections, mostly because he talked non-stop about Spike’s best friend, confidant, and deadly spellbreaker in her own right, Reina Rosa.

On screen, Colt clamped a vice grip down on his opponent, dragging him up the top rope to perform his finisher: the Thunderbolt Piledriver. The cowboy king tucked his opponent beneath his legs, inverted him into the air as if he weighed nothing, and struck a pose for the cheering crowd.

“T-thhis is it!” Spike said.

Colt jumped into the air and, in a flash and bolt of lightning, slammed the muscleman headfirst into the canvas. The angle on which the British brusier landed never failed to make Spike wince, despite this being a repeat viewing, but he couldn’t deny a bit of erotic enjoyment at the power move’s complete and total destruction. The bell rang. Colt–that is, the Colt on TV–stood over his defeated opponent, smoking and twitching on the mat, as the ref lifted the cowboy’s hand in triumph. On screen, a younger, pony-tail sporting Colt whooped and uttered a loud ‘yee haw’.

In real life, Colt did the same, splashing beer all over the training room floor. He did his signature “number one”. “WOOO! That’s right, cowboy! TAN HIS ASS! WOOOOOO!!!!”

Spike was living for it, but Buck looked like he would vomit from embarrassment. He put his hand in his face, and tried to hide behind his beer bottle as his dad strutted around the TV set as if he were preening for a live audience. “Dad, you’re such a ham!”

“A big meaty ham, and don’t you forget it!” Colt laughed, switching the TV set off and chugging down the rest of his beer. “It’s called showmanship, son! One day you’ll learn.”

Cool-headed Buck, flipped the dark lock of hair in front of his face. “Nah, I’m going to be cool and cunning and sinister if I get to the pro leagues!”

Don’t pop a boner now, Spike thought dreamily, picturing his crush as an absolute monster heel–though it was kind of hard to envision sweet-nature Buck breaking guy’s necks. Spike took a swing of beer, made a face, and offered it to the Tamberly men. “Blech. Texas beer is…um…heavy stuff. You guys want this?”

“Not a beer guy, Spikey?” Colt laughed, patting Spike on the shoulder.

Oh no, he’s gonna think I’m a pansy! “I-I’m fine with beer. But I prefer hard liquor. And harder men.”

 

Colt laughed. Spike always amused him, and the pretty boy New Yorker made sure to milk it for all it was worth…possibly in the hopes that Colt might someday decide to milk him instead. “How about some hard knocks, you little punk?”

“Depends who’s doing the knocking, Mr. President.”

Buck stood and popped his beer on the ringside apron–something that always pissed Colt off. “That beefy British guy was…okay, right?”

“Aw, o’course,” Colt said, dismissing any notion of bad sportsmanship. He leaned in, excited to explain his moveset while Buck braced himself for a tangent. “See, boys, the move is a real nasty, double whammy. Breaks your collar bone and spine and completely sets your system on fire with the electrocution factor. That’s why nobody–and I mean nobody–has ever kicked out of my Thunderbolt Piledriver.”

Buck smiled nervously. “Yeah, you really aren’t making a case for how that guy isn’t actually dead.”

“Us spellbreakers drink soma before the match,” Spike cheerfully explained. “It’s like…a magic potion thing that heals you. Otherwise, your dad would have probably killed that dude.”

“And I ain’t no outlaw,” Colt said, crossing his arms and looking tough. “I’m a damn hero! Who…does occasionally enjoy roughing up the occasional prettyboy here or there.”

Spike blinked, thinking Colt had–for the fraction of a second–just glanced in his direction at that statement. Would I die happy if Colt killed me with his big, shiny cowboy muscles? …Yes. Yes, I would.

Colt continued waxing nostalgic, pulling his son into a tight–but gentle–headlock. Then again, none of Colt’s headlocks were ever really gentle, and Buck’s reddening face underscored this fact. “Anyways, once I got my vict–I mean, opponent–down for the ten-”

“You mean ‘three’?” Buck gurgled, trying to muscle his way out of his dad’s tight embrace.

“Nah, I mean ten. So I get on the canvas, and after I’m done flexing over the guy and showing him how superior I am, I just apply a little bit of electric current down his spine, reversing any nerve damage. And then I give the ol’ bastard a stiff kick to the back of the neck. Right as rain! Though…the pain kinda hits you then seeing as the electruction sorta numbs you to the initial blow. I guess I can be a bit of a bastard, huh Buck. Buck? Oh, sorry, son!”

Colt unleashed his suffering son, gasping for breath. He scrambled for another drink of beer.

Goddess, I wish that were me, Spike thought.

After catching his breath, Buck leaned against the ring apron, shaking his head. “I dunno, Dad. You’ve told a few tall tales in your time. That…sound made up.”

Spike leapt to his hero’s defense–he knew that Buck was the only person on the damn planet who could make Colt sulk, and he hated seeing his hero’s beautiful, green eyes go all sad-like. “It’s not made up!” Spike said, puffing out his chest–and for a second, even Buck looked afraid. He turned to the towering, veteran spellbreaker and motioned to the thing behind them. “Come on, Colt! Let’s show him.”

“You mean…you want me to do one to you?” Colt scratched his head, unsure. “Er…I dunno. I don’t wanna break ya, boy.”

“Spike…” Buck began with a sigh. “Is this a kink thing?”

“What?” Spike said, innocently, as if he’d just been accused of the most horrible crime. “No!”

It absolutely was a kink thing.

Colt scratched his beard, giving the idea some consideration. “Hmm. Well, I have been teaching Bucky here some pro moves. Now he can’t shoot lightning like I can, but I’m sure you could give a killer piledriver in your own time, Buck.” With a glint in his eyes, Colt winked at his young protege. “You want to help demonstrate, Mr. Hard Knocks?”

“Hell yeah I do!” Spike said with an enthusiastic and charming hop.

Colt laughed. “Wow, I’ve never seen someone so eager to get their spine turned into gray before, but I guess you taking hits is what makes you special, Spikey.”

It wasn’t easy being the smartest person in the room, but Buck found himself saddled with the unenviable position. “Oh my Goddess, you two.” He removed his glasses, placing them on top of the TV set. “Okay, fine. Just don’t kill him, dad.”

“I make no promises,” Colt said, already hot-footing for the locker room. “Let me get changed real quick! What kinda gear you want me in, Spikey?”

Buck knew that Spike had the hots for his dad–and he also knew that Colt wouldn’t know if a guy was hitting on him even if he was actively being stroked off.

“Something studly!” Spike said, his eyes practically turning heart-shaped. Colt vanished behind the ringside partition, and Spike promptly stripped down to his near gear, a solid navy brief cut with a white anchor.

“Don’t tell me you were already wearing those!” Buck said, incredulously.

“Of course! I’m always ready to tussle.” Since it had been exactly three seconds since one hot guy had left the room, Spike automatically turned on to the next available dude, running a hand through his feathery blonde hair, giving Buck the look. “And you know…if you ever wanted to practice some moves with me, handsome Buck, you know where to find me.” He yawned and stretched, making sure he flexed both of his biceps as he did. “I’ll even turn my magick off, giving you a fighting chance.”

“I’d still totally destroy you,” Buck said, cheekily flipping Spike the bird and making for his gym bag. “Okay, I think I have my wrestling trunks here. You better turn around while I’m changing, or no piledrivers for you!”

“Kay!” Spike said. He was honorbound of course. A slut he may be, but he was always ethical.

Within a few minutes, Spike was stretching his arms in the ring, leaning against the ropes with a winner’s confidence. Imagine if I beat Colt in front of his own son! Oh, no Spike, that’ll make you hard. I can’t disrespect Colt like that! Still…it would be hot…

Thoughts of victory were put aside at once, however, as Colt emerged from the lockers with his typical cowboy swagger, clad in the tightest cow-print briefs Spike had ever seen–not his usual gear of choice. He had even donned a cowboy hat for, presumably, a bit of ‘drama’. Spike caught the storm in his eyes. Colt–locking his gaze with his opponent, gave Spike an evil smile and drew a thumb across his neck, a real ‘lambs to the slaughter’ gesture. Even Buck had to blink and draw back from his dad in fear.

Scared and aroused at once, Spike slowly moved both of his hands in front of his crotch. “Eh…maybe I am having second thoughts.”

Colt chuckled under his breath, and pulled himself into the ring–passing through the ropes like a god going between earth and Olympus. The force of his boots on the canvas shook the ground beneath Spike’s feet. Spike gulped.

“Nice knowing you, Spike,” Buck laughed from ringside. “I’ll be sure to make a real pretty program for your funeral.” The idea suddenly intrigued him. “Oooh…yeah…nautical motif. Some navy blue, some white contrast, that’d look real sweet…”

Colt and Spike stared each other down–and Spike was just glad that his hero and teacher’s eyes didn’t wander down to his crotch, as the stretchy fabric was doing its best to contain Spike’s real pride and glory.

Colt removed his cowboy hat, flinging it to the corner of the ring with a marksman’s aim. “Okay, Spikey boy, so you wanna fight back or…?”

“No, I’m good. If you just wanna….OOFF!”

Even though he suspected Colt had held back, the knee to the gut–even with kickpads!--was like getting hammered in the abs. Spike keeled over, the wind knocked out of him, but he didn’t have time to react before he found his head wedged between Colt’s giant, muscular thighs.

“See, first you gotta take ‘em by surprise,” Colt said, instructing his son in the art of pain. “Then, get them all bent over, just like this!”

Buck shook his head…but couldn’t help turn red at the sight of Spike’s best feature. His trunks always seemed to ride up his cheeks. “I-I’m seeing, dad.”

“And then, you gotta tuck their pretty little head between your legs–and you got the Tamberly men legs too, boy, so you better use ‘em–and give him a little squeeze to really drain the life outta him.”

Spike didn’t have the opportunity to brace himself for the anaconda grip around his neck and head. It was like being crushed between two steel beams. “Ugghgghggh.” This wasn’t as fun as he’d thought it would be. He tried to pulled his head free, but it was no use. He was locked in tight…though he didn’t hate having his face full of cow print. Colt smelled like beer, sweat, and musk. Maybe this was worth it after all…

Or not, Spike decided, as he found his whole body turned upside down in a flash, and his head dangling over the canvas. “Oh no oh no oh no…”

“Then, you scoop them up like this and…” Colt reared up, getting Spike into a better position, his long grip around his stomach. ““Hang ‘em high! Now, I like to leave them up there for a bit, really drives the fear into them and makes em’ squirm.”

“Oooh.” Buck grinned, happy to watch the pinup boy’s legs flail in the air for leverage. He knew he wasn’t going anywhere. “You okay up there, Spike?”

“I’m–”

“Ooops!” Colt said, as he jumped up and brought all of his weight down, driving Spike’s head into the canvas with a sickening crack. “Boom!”

Spike’s back went stiff, and his legs fell over his head without any control. He landed with his ass up in the air, on display, and his face at an odd angle, as he drooled onto the canvas in a state of semi-consciousness. Colt, kneeling in front of his prey, patted Spike gently on the head and smiled. “Real fun, isn’t it?”

From ringside, Buck covered his mouth in shock. Dad just killed my crush. Then, he heard the low moan from Spike on the mat. Colt gave his son a thumbs up and a sheepish grin to let him know he was alive.

Which was a relief, of course, but now Buck’s sadistic streak had activated. He gave his dad an innocent smile. “Hey, but you didn’t use your lightning on him!”

Colt nodded, and helped Spike back into a sitting position, giving him a few pats to the side of the face to wake him up. He held a finger in front of Spike’s eyes. “Hey now, son. How many of these do you see?”

“Pretty cowboy…” Spike, loopy, said, as his eyes tried to focus themselves.

“He’ll be fine,” Colt said, tucking Spike under his bulging arms in a reverse headlock. “Now, Spikey, you ain’t going anywhere. Because I want Buck to give it a go.” He slapped Spike on the butt, like they were in the locker room. Even Colt had to admit Spike was firmer than he expected. “Damn! You could bounce a quarter off that thing, boy!”

Spike, still out of it, tried to squirm his way free. “Maybe just give me a minute, sir?”

But Buck was eager. He took a long chug of beer and slid into the ring on his knees, hopping to his feet and ‘two-stepping’ his way to the new practice dummy his dad had so graciously set up for him.

 Colt shook his head, amused–and a little proud–of his son’s ring entrance. “Better watch out, boy. You got a big Buck who’s about to kick your ass.”

“Aw, dad, don’t be lame.”

“Ugghhhh….” Spike groaned. “Wait. Buck!?” This was quite possibly the most confusing situation in his life. For one, he wanted to pass out, throw up, or both, from the knock to the head. His neck also felt like it might have been cracked. But the prospect of seeing Buck finally in his wrestling gear…well, maybe it was worth being temporarily disabled! 

Buck cracked his knuckles, looming over the fresh meat his father had just laid out for him. The veneer of the gentle artist melted away, giving way to a cold-eyed killer. “I may not have magick, Spike,” Buck said, pulling off his shirt. He wasn’t as jacked as Spike, let alone his Greek-god of a father, but he was still athletic built, with a tuft of black hair on his chest to give a bit of masculine contrast to his boyish face.

 “But I don’t need it.” He stripped off his jeans, letting them drop. His gear of choice was plain, black briefs, but man did he wear them well.

“B-b-bulge,” Spike said. “I mean, Buck!” Spike couldn’t tell if he was drooling from the blow to the head, or the sight of Buck in all his might! He definitely had his father’s legs…and other attributes.

“‘Eh? Like what you see, do you?” Buck realized his dad’s back was facing him, and Spike’s head was vulnerable, so he knelt down and thrusted his bulge right in Spike’s pretty face. “Enjoy your senses while you still have them, kid.” 

With that, he yanked Spike’s head out of his dad’s grip, transferring the sailor stud to his own legs. He clamped them down, but unlike his more gentle father, he didn’t hold back. 

Even though Spike struggled to breathe, Buck just looked up and smiled innocently at his father. “Like this dad?”

“Yeah, just like that!”

Buck let himself squeeze down just a bit harder, enjoying that Spike was totally helpless and Colt none the wiser. Then, he lifted Spike up–finding him to be especially heavy. Oh no, I’m gonna fall!

To his surprise, Spike actually helped him out, by hugging his lower back, setting him up just as if they were doing pro wrestling choreography.

The move was deliberate on Spike’s part. Even if he kills me, I want to make sure Buck looks good! Besides, his face was now being smothered by Buck’s enormous bulge–really, what was he to lose here besides a few brain cells?

Colt eyed his son, who seemed to be enjoying the set-up a little too much, Buck’s eyes staring down at Spike’s own, generously full briefs. “Ummm…son, you don’t need to drive his face into the crotch though. That’s what we call a tombstone variant.”

Buck snapped out of his reverie. “Oh, got it! Heh. I’ve wanted to do this for awhile!” He jumped up in a ‘fake out’ move, enjoying as Spike tensed up for the pain. “Hmm…I dunno. I’d hate to break such a pretty man. Then again…night, night, Spike!”

Buck hopped into the air, just as his father had shown him, only he was sure to really drive Spike’s head between his legs as he went for the hit–adding some momentum to the blow. The ring shook, and Spike bolted up, his eyes rolling back into the head, before he flopped back down–starfish style–and shivered on the mat, unconscious. 

Even Colt was stunned. And proud. “Hot damn, boy, you’re brutal! You plumb knocked him right out!”

Ecstatic at nailing the move–and his crush–Buck looked down at Spike and couldn’t help feel his cock twitch at the angelic-looking stud–washboard abs and all–twitched, his head knocking against Buck’s black wrestling boots. This was what apex predators must feel like when they sink their teeth into a fresh kill, Buck thought sadistically. This was fun!

“Awww look at him,” Buck said mockingly. The fact that he was breaking guys in front of his more heroic dad was a weirdly erotic thought…one he didn’t want to dwell on for too long. Inspired by mischief, Buck ran to the side of the ring, reached through the ropes, and pulled up Spike’s unfinished bottle of beer. 

“Looks like beer is too strong for this little boy,” Buck said mockingly, holding the bottle above his unconscious victim. “Let’s wake him up with it!”

Before he did, however, Colt shot out and ripped the bottle out of his son’s hands before Buck could so much as pour a drop. He blinked, shocked at his dad’s lightning reflexes. 

Colt gave him a dark look.  “Hey now, son! I didn’t raise no heel! You wanna clean that shit up, boy? This ring’s seen plenty of strange fluids as it is. Oh, don’t look at me like that–you don’t think I don’t know what you boys get up to in the practice ring when I’m not around. Like dogs in the heat, the whole mess of ya! And besides all that…” He put the bottle to his lips and chugged. “It would be a waste of good beer.” 

Colt knelt down over Spike, gave his son a clever look, and then poured the amber liquid down the valley of his own pecs, letting it flow through the rivelets of his abs and pour, like a waterfall, down between Spike’s parted lips. “That’ll wake you up, boy!”

“W-where did you learn that!” Buck asked, feeling his face change colors.

“Your dad had to pay for spellbreaking school somehow! You never thought to ask why I was so good at pole dancing when I got drunk at cousin Evie’s wedding?”

Beneath them, Spike coughed up beer, his eyes fluttering awake.

Buck ignored him. “Aw come on dad, isn’t it more fun being bad?”

“Geez,” Colt sighed, pectorals wet with sweat and beer. He shook his long hair out of his eyes and reached out to ‘awaken’ Spike with another few pats to the cheek. “We gotta watch out for him, Spikey! Hey boy, you ok down there?”

Fortunately, Spike had in fact activated his magick–the power to channel impacts and blows into energy. It was the only thing that had kept his neck intact up until now. “Unngngg….never better…” From his spot on the ground, he leaned up and glared at the nasty heel who’d just drove him into the mat. “You’re lucky I’m not using my glyph, Buck. Or you’d be in for a world of hurtin’!”

Impressed with his tenacity–and his hard head–-Buck shrugged off the threat, laughing to himself. “Heh. Bring it on, Spike.” He hoped someday he would. There was quite a bit he’d love to do Spike…in private, that is.

Colt pulled Spike’s arm off the mat, trying to set him straight again. “Well, if you two are done flirtin’, I can show you the Thunderbolt Piledriver.”

Spike, dizzy as shit, tried to stand on two legs. The room spun. Might as well have been standing on a merry-go-round. “W-what! I thought we were done!”

“You really thought I’d let you off easy, boy? You asked for the hurt, now you’re gonna get the hurt!” With that, Colt wrapped his left arm around Spike’s neck, kicked back like the horse he was named for, and slammed Spike’s head into the mat again with a stunning DDT. Not enough to knock him out, but enough to get him exactly where the cowboy wanted him. He pulled Spike up by his pretty, blonde hair–like picking a kitten up by the scurr of its neck–and shoved him, once again, between his thick thighs.

Colt turned to his wide-eyed son, watching with admiration as his dad demolished this jobber. “Watch your old man and see how it’s done, Bucky-boy. I can be a heel sometimes too!”

Buck bit his lip, watching as his muscle-mountain of a father dragged poor, limp Spike up the ropes. “Oh Goddess Dad, please don’t kill him. He’s like…cute and stuff?”

“Ha! The cute ones are always the fun ones to destroy!” Colt grinned and gave Spike’s trunks a tug, giving him a good wedgie.

Buck swallowed. Ah, so that’s where I get it from.

Spike, unable to break free–and his ass on display for his crush–tried pleading for mercy. “H-hey, Colt, I’m having second thoughts!”

“Who said you could call me, Colt, boy? That’s ‘sir’ to you!” He was, of course, just joshing the kid–but he could practically smell his fear. This was always the fun part. “Bet you regret this now, don’t ya, little ponyboy! But don’t worry, Spikey, you won’t feel much for too long!”

Colt positioned himself on the ropes, looking like a thunder god about to bring down judgment. Colt intoned ominously to Spike, the poor boy’s legs dangling freely in the air, “You know what I say at this part? Hey, kid, you hear me down there or has all the blood rushed to your head already? What do I say?”

Shit! Now, Spike was truly afraid. He thought Colt would let him off easy. Now, his life was flashing before his eyes. ““N-n-no!”

“Come on, you’re a fan right? Finish my line!”

“Please?”

“Please?” Colt hopped up and down on the ropes, getting leverage for the killing blow. “You mean, ‘piledrive my brains out, Colt?’ Nah, that’s not what I say! I say, ‘you’re about to be hoooome on the range, son! Here comes the storm!’”

“NOOO!!!!”

Spike’s frightened cry punctuated Colt’s jump up from the ropes, Spike’s little blonde head still tucked between his legs. It felt like ages in air before Colt unleashed a thousand watts of pure pain into Spike’s system, frying him like an egg as Colt transformed himself into a living bolt of lightning, striking Spike into the mat with a concussive force.

CRACK!

The ring shook. As did Spike. His system completely destroyed by the combo of pumped voltage and a deadly inverted blow, the destroyed fighter convulsed on the canvas in front of his superior. Involuntarily, Spike’s arms lifted into the air, flailing around, before trembling on the mat–poor Spike seizing all the while.

“Catching butterflies there, son?” Colt joked as he knelt down and cradled his pupil’s head with one hand, and flexed his boulder bicep with the other. “Looks like you’re all bang and no bullet, son.”

Buck went to his knees by Spike’s side. “Dad! You…just destroyed him!”

“Nah,” Colt said, looking down and admiring his work. “You okay there, Spikey?”

A trial of foaming spittle ran from Spike’s lips, and his eyes swirled around wildly in his skull. “Kkkkhhhh….””

“See,” Colt gestured to the demolished jobber. “He’s fine.” Colt leaned in. “You just hold tight now and let me pin you. Now, Buck, if you want to be a dick–and somethin’ tells me you do, Buck–you can pin him like this, make him look like he’s goin’ to his grave.” 

Colt picked up Spike’s trembling hands and crossed them over his chest, even as his pupil’s legs jerked and twitched on the canvas. He pressed down, leaning in and pinning his boy. “You want to do the honors and count him out, Buck?”

Buck was all too glad to do so, hitting the mat with his palm. “One…two…” On the last count, however, Buck picked up Spike’s neck, taking his shoulders off the mat. “Oh! Dad, he looks like he wants more.”

“No he doesn’t!” Colt, said, rolling his eyes and repositioning himself. Beneath him, Spike made small, moaning sounds. “Geez, Buck, you’re gonna be a terror when you get in the ring, aren’t ya?”

“Fiiiine. So like, what happens if you, you know…don’t reverse it?”

“Phew…” Colt thought about it. “Permanent brain damage, probably.” He laughed, looking down at his twitching student. “Not like that would do you any worse, would it, blondie?”

“Nnngnggg…” was Spike’s strained, mindless response.

“Is he like, even aware of his surroundings?” Buck asked.

“Hmmm? Nah, he’s my little plaything now.” Colt brushed Spike’s hair out of his eyes, in an almost fatherly way. “Of course, if I was a heel, I could do all sorts a things to you Spikey, and you wouldn’t be able to do shit now, would ya? I could hog-tie ya. I could even brand my name into that cute little butt of yours. You’re lucky I’m a good guy, right?” Colt nodded to Buck. “You wanna finish that count, son, so I can bring your friend back to life?”

Buck nodded, but he lowered his head next to Spike’s ear. He coldly whispered, “You’re lucky my pa is merciful, Spike. I’d have more fun with you.” He didn’t care if his father saw or not, but Buck subtly gave his twitching pal the gentlest nibble on the earlobe. “So adorable. One. Two. Three! The winner, and still undisputed champion--and also the best dad in the world–Colt ‘The Bolt’ Tamberly!” He pointed to his dad, proud to see him show a jobber how it’s done.

“Damn straight!” Colt said, the cowboy showing off his ‘guns’. He pulled Spike’s neck off the ground, his head still lolling around. “Okay, Spike, let’s get you all fixed up now.” The muscled fighter massaged Spike’s shoulders, slowly pumping him full of electricity, ‘rewiring’ his shattered nervous system–and even heartbeat–to the right setting. He would be fine. The idea was that it just looked deadly.

With the twunk all fixed up, Colt kept a heavy hand on the back of Spike’s neck, propping the unconscious fighter up. He pointed to the back of his head. “You wanna do the honors, heel? Just a quick strike will do it!”

“Fuck yeah!” Buck said, hungrily. 

“HEY! Language.”

“Oh, sorry. Heh. Wake up, jobber!” 

Buck picked up his leg and delivered a brutal curb stomp to the back of Spike’s neck and spine, properly ‘resetting’ him and lifting him out of unconsciousness. 

Spike’s eyes bugged out of their head as he rudely came to. “OOOWWW!” he moaned, trying to get his senses. Without Colt’s numbing electricity, however, the pain done to his back, neck, and spine came on in a merciless, sharp wave. He winced, his eyes welling up with tears. He rubbed the back of his neck in anguish. “Oh…Goddess….” He sniffed. 

Colt was awash with guilt, while Buck just looked plain satisfied–enjoying Spike’s whimpering. “Oh!” Colt started. “Oh no. Hey now, son, it’s okay.” He pulled Spike into his chest, holding him tight.

“Aghhh,” Spike winced. “You really got me good, cowboy.” He sniffed pathetically.

Colt bit his lip, and lifted Spike up and over his shoulder. “Hey, I better take this little guy back and give him a nice, electric massage. That’ll set him straight.” Like carrying a newborn lamb, Colt stepped through the ropes and gently lowered himself–and his patient–onto the ring floor. “There we go now. Good boy. Your teach‘ll get you all fixed up.”

Buck crossed his arms, watching his dad leave with his crush swinging over his back. As they got to the door, Spike quietly–unbeknownst to Colt–lifted his head and gave Buck a wink and a thumbs up.

Hehehe. Your dad is all mine, Buck.

“You little twerp…” Buck said through gritted teeth as he watched smug, satisfied Spike’s body vanished behind the training ring door. Looks like he’d won this match after all…