Day of the Deadboy - Naughty Version

The crunch of loose pebbles and discarded candy bar wrappers drew Buck Tamberly's eyes downwards to twisting path ahead. Candles, likely placed by the target of Buck's consternation, dripped wax onto the road, and illuminated the hunched over, leather-speedo clad forms of Buck's peers. Eyes bewitch with ghostly glow, Sanjay and Blue Dragon moaned and looked up. The dark magi's magick had turned them into his puppets.

Fittingly, Buck found Deadboy Daemian--and his demon tag partner, Braxius, nestled on a throne made of skulls piled high. Deadboy munched down fiendishly on a Dracula Delight, one of Australia's ghoulish treats. The bright, cherry filling made it look like blood was dripping from his mouth. Deadboy's open mouth chewing was even more nauseating than the fact that he had turned almost all of Buck's employees into his zombie servants.

Caught in the act, Deadboy looked up and blinked at his new boss. "Oi!" he greeted, wiping cherry blood from his lips and giving Buck a mischievous, toothy grin. "Don't worry, the skulls are fake."

Behind him, Brax (whose enormous tail Daemian was using as a recline) turned the page of his self-help book (The Miraculous Power of Optimism) and yawned with a mouth full of fangs.

Buck looked down at the base of the throne. Tied in chains to a stake in the ground, was a leather-thong clad Spike, his head lolled to one side. He too had been bewitched.

Sighing, Buck greeted his wayward employee. "Happy birthday, Lachlan," he said, addressing Daemian by his real name. "Looks like Paris treated you mighty kind." He crossed his arms. Though Buck could only dream of becoming a Spellbreaking, of the lot, he was the least scared of the macabrely sexy, demonic sorcerer sitting before him. Then again, danger was one of Buck Tamberly's favorite turn-ons.

"Fuckin' oath," Daemian said, picking something out of his teeth and flicking it. He belched, loudly, lazily resting his angular jaw on his hand. "Those Alchemist c***ts thought they had a leg up on me. We might have lost the Chalice--which did alter my wicked plans--but I got something much better. Hehehe. A spell that us dark magi have been doin' our heads in tryin' to hunt for ages."

Buck scanned Daemian's face. This had already been a trying week before Deadboy and Icewolf showed up and bewitched half the staff, turning them into mindless ghouls. Fortunately, Buck--who didn't know much about magick, being unable to wield it himself--had help from some friends in high places (said 'high places' being the Ivory Tower of academia). "Yeah, Lily said they got their hands on some spooky tomes. You really were able to do all of this just by hearing an incantation just one time?"

"Always was a quick study," Deadboy said, grinning ever-so-innocently. Behind him, Brax gave Buck--the interim president of the GSA--the briefest of acknowledgments.

"You're smart, Lachlan. You hate to hear it, because it challenges your badboy personality, I'm sure. But it's true."

"What a sweet compliment," Deadboy said, though genuine or not, it was hard to tell. The demonic prince stood and stretched, showing off his rippling, sinewy arms, lined with muscles. He looked like a vampire turned Olypmic swimmer turned MMA fighter. "You know...Bucky, I can sniff out a fellow baddie. You're as sadistic as they can come. I can see the darkness inside you--definitely ain't your daddy's boy. Why not join up with me."

Buck cocked an eye. "Sniff me out?" He raised his armpit and bit his lip. "Shit, I knew I forgot something."

Deadboy licked his lips. "In addition to raising the dead..." Daemian leered, "I can be a bit of a pit pig. Whaddya say, mate? Join me. We can torture jobbers together. Do some really freaky shit."

Admittedly, it was tempting, Buck thought. Plus, it would show up his dad. Still, loyalty was loyalty.

Well, almost. "What have you done with Spike?"

"Mmmm. Blondie? Oh, he's totally my little slaveboy zombie now. So innocent. I told him he was my boyfriend. But I can be a bit...unfaithful." He winked.

Buck was not amused. "Hell, stud, you got good taste. But here's where you're wrong about blondie. You don't go around playing with a heart like that. He's something special. You might be right, boy. I got the heel streak in me--definitely do. But I break bones, not hearts. You're messin' with my friend. And I don't like that very much."

Deadboy scowled, and behind him, Brax let out a soft, concerned groan. "Huh. Sounds like the Bereft heir to the GSA has a crush. On my property."

"Forget it, Deadboy. I'm still your boss. And HR needs to have a word with you about your...behavior."

Daemian stuck out his tongue. "Aww, why can't you let me have fun!?"

"Deadboy, you know I like a nasty heel as much as anybody else, but your antics are really starting to stress me out. I'm doing my best to keep this ship in shape and you're..." he gestured broadly to the huddled zombies around them.

"What? You don't like what I've done with the place?"

Buck's eyes fell upon enslaved Spike, his muscular form barely constrained by chain and the six inch piece of leather holding back his immodesty. "I like some things you've done. But it's gotta' stop."

Deadboy glowered. "And what is someone without a glyph gonna do? I like ya, Buck. You're a sadist like me. But if you interfere in my fun, we're gonna have some problems, mate."

Don't tempt with a good time, Buck thought, his dad's warnings of 'not shitting where you eat' coming back to haunt him just as much as the specters swirling around the bewitched woodland on the GSA that Deadboy had turned into his hellish throne. "Yeah, I figured you'd be difficult."

"The only idiot who could even stand a chance against me now is White Tiger," Daemian said. "And he's busy with the tournament. Nobody is gonna save you, Bucky boy. This is MY kingdom now!"

From the shadowy bushes, a familiar, accented voice spoke. "Psss. Presidente, Is this where I come in?" 

"I'm still doing the diplomacy thing," Buck whispered back. He re-addressed Damian. "So, I guess I'm gonna have HR speak to you after all...." 

Deadboy rolled his heavily-lined eyes. "Ugh, and what pencil-necked little sap is the head of human resources? Besides, human resources doesn't apply to Brax."

"Inhuman resources does, but Brax is a model employee, so that's not a concern." Buck cleared his throat. "You can come now."

The branches parted. A statuesque figure, bulging with muscles (and with only a purple speedo to cover them up) stood tall and heroic, with hands posed on hips. The mask mine's smile lit up the dark. "It is I, El Amante Intoxico! Warrior of Love! Defender of the Heart! New appointed human resources manager!" He struck a new pose. "If there is a hatred in this world, then I shall put it to the sword! If there is terror in the night, then it stands no match for my might! If there is an OSHA violation, then the correct paperwork shall be filed in a timely and ORDERLY FASHION!" El Amante flexed. Around him, the zombified members of the GSAW moaned and swooned.

Deadboy, on his throne of skulls, stood tall and grit his teeth, spitting down at the imposing luchador. "Nobody makes my zombies moan and swoon but me! YOU!? The great masked himbo? YOU'RE Bucky's little lapdog?"

El Amante stared at the pile of skulls and put his finger to his chin in deep contemplation. "This is a fire hazard. It must go. And also," he pointed at Deadboy, "YOU need to be taken down a peg, amigo."

Buck shrugged. "Iggy said that the only way to take down a Scorpio was with another Scorpio." Buck pointed to the scorpion tattoo on El Amante's bulging shoulder. "As a Virgo, I don't believe in astrology, but Iggy has never been wrong."

"UGH, I thought that light magi was on my side! What about my nemsis. White Tiger. Where's HE? Afraid to fight his old lov--I mean RIVAL, I bet!"

"He's taking care of actual threats," Buck said through his teeth. "You know, like Firebird. Sounds like you and Rage were getting chummy, so I had him go hit the pavement and do a little recon." Buck nodded to the smiling, muscular, masked man at his side. "Fortunately, my dad has a thing for babyfaces, so we got some heroes to spare."

El Amante held up a finger. "Ah, ah, ah. Tecnico."

"Yeah, what he said."

Deadboy kicked a skull off his throne. It tumbled and fell at the masked man's feet. The dark magi's eyes went pure black, shining with dark and dreamy wickedness. "Well, fine. You want to lock up, Romeo? You'll make a fun plaything." He growled. "We'll do it your lucha libre way too. I'll wear a mask and put it on the line! All the better for when I rip yours off and cut open your handsome face."

El Amante smirked. "You want to challenge ME to a masked fight? Silly, little Australian. Well, if that is the poison you wish to pick..." His eyes glowed pink. "Then prepare to taste my venom, chico. We settle this at midnight."

Next to him, Buck caught the brunt of El Amante's love magick. "Oh wow. This is hot."

"Do not make me file a harassment complaint," El Amante said, turning up his nose. "I have a Deadboy to wrangle."

"I can't believe this is the venue," Buck said to Icewolf (the only other GSA member not zombified), as he stared at the ring in the middle of the old cemetery.

Robbie was more sullen than usual. Ever since Paris, he and Deadboy had parted ways. "Scary Bro said I wasn't even worth zombifying," Robbie sniffed.

"Awww buddy. You're worth that and more." Buck winced. He wasn't very good at the whole 'cheering up' thing, but he was happy to have one less problem to worry about in Robbie, who was now on a self-proclaimed 'redemption arc' to try and win back Cian's heart (which he never had to begin with...)

A low mist crept along the ground, turning the ring into an island in a sea of craggy headstones. Hundreds of votive candles dotted the ground, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to the gloom. Next to Buck, Robbie, dressed as a teenage werewolf (complete with tufts of fur stuck to his handsome face) removed his letterman jacket and handed Buck a pumpkin spice flavored beer. "Well...Happy Day of the Dead, broski," Icewolf said to his friend and boss. "You think Daemian could really unmask El Amante?"

The dreadful thought hadn't actually occurred to Buck. He was supposed to be acting as a manager for these boys; watching out for any bad career moves. Granted, the only two 'conscious' spectators (besides the zombified GSA boys at ringside) were Buck and Icy. But Buck knew luchadors had very strict codes of honor. An unmasking was humiliating.

"Deadboy has way less to lose since he always shows his face," Buck pointed out, grimly. "El Amante must be really confident."

"Or cocky," Icewolf winked. "If his face gets unmasked. I'm totally gonna smooch the hell out of it."

"You'll have Iggy Astro to deal with then, bud."

Icewolf huffed. "Well, I'll smooch them too. Hey," Robbie said, nudging Buck, "Check out Spike in that skimpy little leather number, eh? You gonna have fun with him?"

"Not while he's a zombie!" Buck nodded to the aisle of candles leading to the ring. "Check it. It's starting."

"Cool, cool. So, who's the ref?"

Buck and Icewolf looked at each other. Buck's mouth dropped. "SHIT! I forgot to hire a ref!"

"Awww as if that would ever stop ME," came a malevolent, echoing voice. A green light shone down on the earth in front of the candle-lit aisle. The ground shook, lines in the Earth like breaks in skin, giving way to upturned soil. A black coffin emerged from the ground, swinging open to reveal its evil inhabitant with his hands cross his chest, leaning against plushy red velvet. Deadboy's outfit was his standard black briefs and half torn tights, but now he wore a fiendish, skull-printed black luchador mask across his head. Sharp plastic fins, like a razor mohawk, lined the top. 

Even Buck and Icewolf shivered. "Damn, that's a creepy look," Buck said.

Flanked by his zombie followers, the malicious (and mischievous) Deadboy shuffled with a feral gait towards the ring. "What a beautiful night for a CURSE," he snarled, waving his hand over his hypnotised followers. Their eyes glowed bright red. He made them turn, about-face, towards the still 'unturned' spectators sitting in folding chairs. "You two c***ts are NEXT."

Icewolf pointed to himself, dumbly, and spat out his beer. "But...I was your bro! I HELPED you get this far!"

Buck whipped his head towards him. "I knew dad said you were trouble."

"I was BORED AND HORNY," Robbie grunted. "Deadboy, quit the shit! You're ruining my chances with Cian! Er...I mean, redeeming myself! Yeah!"

Climbing to the top rope, Deadboy leaned forward with a twist. His long tongue stuck out of his mask. "That's what you get for making a pact with a DEMON!" He pointed to Spike, chained to a rinside post, drooling onto his chest. "That himbo was your only hope. With all of you turned, and Iggy and El Amante to follow suit, I'll raise my zombie army against White Tiger! The Divine Chalices you collected will be mine. I'll be the one who takes down Firebird. And then, the WORLD will be mine! HAHAHAAHAHA!"

It was probably the most clumsy, least intimidating, and plainly stupid villain monologue that Buck had ever heard. He was now more annoyed than concerned. 

From the opposite 'aisle', the mists parted. El Amante's broad shouldered (and larged pectoral'd) shape was unmistakable, but even Buck did a double-take at his interesting choice of outfit. El Amante was prone to showing off his body in the tightest, skimpiest little briefs possible, to the point that even Colt bemoaned the masked fighter's 'lucky thong' always sticking out of his trunks. Tonight, on this strange and exciting occasion, the masked 'Warrior of Love' (and employee payroll) wore a tight fitting singlet. It didn't do anything to make the beefcake more modest--if anything, his pecs threatened to break the lycra straps at any minute, and his bulge was...obvious--but his overall look was truly something to behold. A colorful 'Day of the Dead' inspired outfit, complete with a sugar skull mask. 

"Papi, this is art," Buck said, jaw dropping. He caught El Amante's eye. He looked serious. Buck almost wish he hadn't said anything.

But the jovial luchador was glad to attend to his audience. Hands on hip, he looked around. "Crowd's a bit...dead tonight, huh?"

Somewhere in the shadows, Brax laughed hollowly Deadboy shot him a dark look. "How DARE you laugh at my opponent's puns?"

Buck ignored his unruly employee. "Thank you for coming," Buck sighed, experiencing a momentary pang of relief. "Really...I wanted to handle this by myself."

El Amante put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, inadvertently causing Buck's neck hairs to stand up with. 

"All you had to do was ask, pobrecito. Asking for help isn't tapping out. It's tagging in." He looked over his shoulder and glared at the sneering skeleton waiting for him in the red corner. "Don't worry. I know exactly what Deadboy needs..."

El Amante flipped over the top rope, landing with poise and shaking the ring. Deadboy responded with a loud belch.

"You know nothing of the honor of the mask," El Amante said with a sternly pointed finger (to which Deadboy yawned). "Guess I'll have to tear that ridiculous looking thing off of you, eh?"

This only pissed off the delicious demon even more! He wiped his nose and puffed out his chest, drawing closer to his foe. "Heh. You're like me, chook. I can smell the darkness in you."

"My name is Victor, NOT chook! And I know the darkness well enough. The difference is that I know how to tame it. Just like I'll tame you."

The two men, both in skeletal attire, demonic blood running in their veins, stared at each other with glowing eyes--pink and green. After a few seconds of stare down, chests pushed together, Daemian cocked his head to the side.

"Uh...bell?"

"Oh right!" Rex piped up. He ran over to the bell table and gave it a good strike with a conjured up icicle. 

Deadboy and El Amante went for the lockup, teeth gritting and arms bulging. Midway through, Deadboy pulled back with a cheeky 'arms in the air' pose, with Daemian glaring in confusion. Then, El Amante went in for his signature 'male stripper' dance, swivelling his hips to imaginary bachata music, even turning to give Deadboy a good look at this butt wiggling in his tight singlet. 

Daemian seethed. "I'll fuck you UP, mate!" He went for a deadly strike with his boot.

But El Amante had anticipated this. It was trap. He grabbed Deadboy by the ankle and spun him around, forcing him off his feet. Still, Deadboy was an expert gymnast, and was able to turn the stumble into a donkey kick, striking El Amante right where it hurt!

"UNGH!" El Amante said, clutching his nuts. From ringside, Buck and Icewolf winced and covered up their own tender areas out of sympathetic reflex. 

"You needed to be neutered," Deadboy sneered. He didn't waste his larger opponent's stunned state, running up, wrapping his hands around El Amante's neck, and brinding him down for a snapmare.

It hit, but El Amante was made of sturdy stuff, and was able to roll out. Still dazed, and with a sore neck, he pivoted onto his feet from his back--a breath taking feat of athleticism. "You like kicks, eh, zombie boy?" He delivered a roundhouse to Deadboy's chest, hitting him hard. Then, he pulled the evil spellbreaker's head in-between his thighs, clamping down tightly.

"Bet you wanted to be caught inside these," El Amante laughed, mockingly. "Let's dance!" 

He gyrated his hips, in the process grinding Deadboy's sensitive neck between his monster muscle quads. It was humiliating as it was painful, even more when El Amante jumped up and planted Deadboy's face into the mat.

He went for the roll up pin. "One...two..."

Deadboy kicked out and flipped over, flipping off El Amante in the process. El Amante rose, smirking, to face him. He gave him the "come on" wave with his hands.

Buck turned to Icewolf. "This is goooood. I wish Dad could see this!"

Robbie gave Buck a rare, thoughtful response. "He'd be real proud, eh, bro?" His watery eyes trembled. "But bro, I'm proud, bro."

The nightmarish Aussie surveyed El Amante's mask and its iconography. "A bleeding heart," Deadboy sneered, forming his hand into a claw. "I think it needs more blood!" Tendrils of shadow formed on Deadboy's black-polished fingernails, turning his hand into a claw of cold darkness. He took a swipe at the masked man.

El Amante pivoted back and stepped away with the grace of a dancer. Deadboy went again, and again, earning him a bored 'tsk tsk' from the colorful fighter. He scooped him up by the crotch and threw Deadboy into the canvas without breaking a sweat.

And he wouldn't give him the luxury of getting back onto his feet so quickly either. El Amante yanked Deadboy up by his skull-mask (though his tecnico code prevented him from ripping it off until the match was won). Into position, El Amante pressed his knee into the sensitive part between Deadboy's shoulders, wrapped his hands around his chin, and yanked the zombie stud back into a a cavernaria.

"Oooh," Buck, impressed, said. "Classic lucha libre move right there." He didn't realize he had become an impromptu commentator. It came natural to him, a lover of a the sport. "I think I see what El Amante is going for. Defeating Deadboy with traditional moves."

Deadboy grunted but did not submit.

"You bring people pain because it gives you pleasure," El Amante said, with his mix of brash heroism and gentle cordiality--even whilst trying to seperate a man's shoulder blades from his body. "I bring them pain because it gives them pleasure. Here. Looks like you need a taste."

El Amante's eyes glowed a soft pink, and the sinister lighting over the arena became a gentle, rosy haze.

For a moment, Deadboy's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he began drooling like a hound getting his belly rubbed. "Fuckin'...oath."

"Hehe. You like it?" El Amante dug in further with his knee, pulling Deadboy's neck back slower. "The goal is not to crank on the move, but go slow. Pain and pleasure light up similar parts of the brain. Eventually, the sensory overload will make you pass out...in a way that may be embarrassing to you, calaverito. You should save yourself the trouble and give, and then I can kiss you all over when that mask is off."

"Blegh!" Deadbopy spat, snapping out of it. His eyes grew dark, solid black, and the gentle aura around the ring faded. "You're gonna' give me diabetes, sugar skull. You want some traditional moves? I'll show you how we do it down under!"

El Amante didn't notice the conjured up, dark fist behind his back, until the last second. He tried to dodge, but it whapped him on the cheek, knocking him sideways and forcing him to break the hold.

Deadboy snapped up and struck El Amante in the chin. While he was dazed, he jumped up to the top rope with a vampiric, fluid motion, perching on top of the chord like a dark carrion bird. With no time for snark (what a pity) Deadboy jumped into the air and aimed his steel-toed boots right for El Amante's face.

The luchador dodged by a fraction of an inch, his skull nearly knocked off by what would have been a match-ending manoeuvre. Deadboy landed on his feet, shaking the ring and no worse for wear, but he had left himself open.

Forget defeating him with classic techniques, El Amante thought, leaping onto his opponent, I gotta' put this sick dog down quick!"

El Amante went for a simple, but effective, sitting arm bar. Deadboy's pale, skeletal arm, knotted with muscles, bent behind his back. El Amante's long, luscious hair stuck to his pectorals, now slick with sweat. He put the hold on tighter. There would be no nice, 'romance' for Deadboy now. Only pain.

"If you do not tap, then I am afraid I may have to break your arm," El Amante said, annoyed. "But don't worry. I'll fix it after." Though he may have to fill out an incident report. Dios mio, is that ethical if I'm the one who caused the injury!? I'll have to check the manual when I get back. 

Instead of crying out in pain from his arm second from being snapped off, Deadboy cackled maniaclly, filling the air with sharp laughter, and making his entranced zombie co-workers at ringside bristle. "Do it, you masked clown!"

"Tch." El Amante looked down and bit his lip. He could. He'd done it before. But...

"Heh, I fuckin' knew it. Because you're weak, possum! Fine. I'll do it myself."

CRACK

Smiling all the while, Deadboy jerked back and didn't just fracture his own arm, but broke it off cleanly, wrenching it from from a shocked and horrified El Amante in the process.

Buck and Robbie looked at each other once, before turning in seperate directions and spilling their guts all over the graveyard lawn.

"Hahahah! Oh, that tickles," Deadboy said, grinning all the while and watching El Amante draw back in horror. He snapped his own arm back onto his shoulder, healing in rapid time with his dark powers. "See? That's not so bad. Not as bad as what I'm about to do to you."

Deadboy snapped his fingers.

El Amante looked side to side, detecting the sharp spike in magickal energy. From the shadows of the ring corners, four chains of violet-black darkness shot out, wrapping themselves around El Amante's limbs, and binding him to the spot.

"Agh!" He cried out. The chains weren't just impossibly strong, but they burned pain into his chest. El Amante bent forward, his hair dangling pendulously in front of his face. He tugged on the chains, his muscles bulging, sweat pouring off his body in drops of dew. Nothing worked. He was bound.

"This is what I like to see," Deadboy said, biting his lip. He drew closer to El Amante, stabbing his finger into his opponent's chin and lifting up his head to look at him. "All that meat-head muscle, and still....so helpless. I think I'll take my time as I remove your mask, cutie. And then, I'm gonna cut a nice long gash into your pretty face. Give you a NEW, better mask! A crimson one! HAHAHAHAAHAHA!" 

El Amante glared at him. "Poor Deadboy."

"Huh? WHAT!? Don't try that hero shit, mate. I know you're scared. Just like you can detect all those sickly sweet vibes, I can smell fear. You're quaking in that little thong of yours."

"Scared? Oh, yes. For you. You hurt yourself just to hurt others." El Amante looked to his glassy-eyed coworkers, some of who he had trained, all of whom he loved, slumped at the side of the ring. "You do all of this. Why?"

Deadboy shivered. "B-because it's fun!"

"I see it, chico. A lonely childhood. Just like mine. Scared. You've been scared all your life. So, you fight back by trying to be more terrifying. You fear people will hurt you, or leave you, so you enslave them with your dark magick. Your loss to White Tiger must have really been the last straw, eh? Imagine, going from champion to disgraced. Completely loved for all your wickedness, to being bound and having your gear taken as trophy by a hero."

The temperature in the arena suddenly dropped. The clouds in the sky draped themselves over the moon, casting the already dark arena into deeper darkness. Deadboy's head drooped, his face hidden further beneath his mask. Without noise, more chains and tendrils of darkness sprouted from the ring, the Earth. The zombies of the GSA moaned and shuddered, drawing back. 

Behind them, peering from around a mausoleum, the demon Brax, Deadboy's tag partner, growled low. "Not...again," he said. "I will...have to....intervene." The hulking beast stepped forward, ready to enter the fray and disrupt the match (for all their sakes), but a chain of darkness shot out from beneath his clawed foot, grabbing him by the ankle.

"GRRRR!" Eyes red, Brax looked towards the ring and shouted. "LACHLAN! STOP THIS MADNESS."

"...Stop..." Daemian said, softly. A green glow appeared in his eyes. Then, the smile, manic and raw. "STOP!? YOU WANT ME TO STOP? WE'RE NOT GONNA STOP! WE'RE JUST GETTING STARTED! HAHAHAHAHAHA! SCARED!? I'LL SHOW YOU ALL WHAT SCARED LOOKS LIKE!!" Heaving like a beast from the underworld, and head bent backwards, Daemian made a motion with his hands. "I...bring...HELL."

With hollowing, echoing words, Deadboy incanted the spell muttered by the Alchemist in the dank catacombs. 

"P̶͖͉͠à̵̳̮ř̶͖̮g̴̋͗ͅo̴̢̡̚͝n̴̰͚͑͒ ̷̙͐t̸̨̧̾͊í̶̡͖̃e̶̡͘ř̸͇̗͘ ̵̯̠̀̾ă̴̜r̶̨̳̾e̵̠͑̑t̷̨͇͝e̶̫̿͠k̶̟̈!̴͈̠̋̓"

The ground beneath the ring trembled. Deadboy's zombies moaned in anguish. El Amante, whose binds had not tightened, but remained fastened, tried to break free again. Nothing. He locked eyes with Deadboy. He would show no fear.

The soil in front of the faded and eroded tombstones fell away. Dirty, skeletal hands, burst out from the ground.

Buck jumped out of his eat, looking to Robbie. "Shit, what's going on?"

The hunky Canadian tried to make sense of the surroundings. "T-this is evil. Pure, dark magic." He gulped. "Necromancy, bro!"

The dead, in droves, crawled from their graves. Some of them still wore their funeral attire. The older of their lot were nothing but bones, their clothing long since rotted away. From their hollow orbitals, a sinister green glow sprouted, and cast the arena in an evil light.

Deadboy beckoned to his army of darkness. Bones rattled, coming closer to the arena. Buck and Robbie cowered, hugging each other for security.

"Bucky," Robbie panicked, "It's bones."

"Behold, youse cunts," Deadboy proclaimed, hands stretching out towards his 'children'. "My army of darkness. I was just going to bloody you up, El Amante. But look what you made me do? I'm going to have my army of the dead RIP you to shreds and feast on that hunky body of yours! Right in front of the eyes of your helpless coworkers. And then? I'm gonna do the same to White Tiger, and THEN Firebird! I'll be the champion of the damn world, and I will turn into my own hellscape!" 

"Hehehe."

"Huh?" Deadboy's eyes shifted back to normal. He blinked. "WHAT? You're...laughing? You're not honestly laughing, are you? Didn't you just hear what I was about to bloody do?"

El Amante smiled. "Oh, little Lachie. You make the dead your playthings. But they are not puppets. They are people. And they are loved."

Around the ring, the skeletons suddenly froze in their tracks.

Deadboy looked around, wildly, tearing at his own mask. "What?!"

"Your birthday is over, Daemian. It's now Día De Los Muertos. The day when the dead come back...not to harm, but to celebrate!"

The green glow from the skeletons faded. Instead of drawing closer, the masses of the dead stopped at ringside. The air filled with a rattling, percussive sound.

Buck looked around. "What's...They're...clapping? Robbie, they're applauding."

"Silly Deadboy. You didn't raise an army. You gave us a crowd!" 

Now, it was time for Deadboy to be afraid. Mouth agape, he put his back against the ropes. But there was nowhere for him to run. He was surrounded. Without fear to wield against others, he lost control on his magick.

El Amante grunted, and flexed, his muscles tearing through the chains as if they were made of smoke. He brushed his shoulders and tossed back his hair, giving Buck and Robbie a flirty wink.

"Ohhh," the two spectators sighed in unisons, falling back into their chairs. "He's sooooo dreamy."

"These treats and tricks of yours might scare other people, Lachlan. But I am not 'people'." The big stud smiled. "For I am the god of love!" He flashed another grin at the crowd. "Tricks and treats. Because it was just Halloween. Get it?"

Deadboy was beside himself. But he wasn't done yet. "Grrr! There IS no Aztec god of love!" With his dark powers dampered from the ego blow, he would have to rely on his skill now. He charged forward. 

"There is NOW!" El Amante shouted, running the ropes and bouncing off for momentum. "And for your information, I'm Mayan." He jumped, catching Deadboy by the neck. "And YOU are history." With his thighs around Deadboy's beck, he flipped the main over in the air, and slammed him down, headfirst, into the mat, with a flawless and elegant hurricanrana.

Deadboy's skull was rocked. "Unnnnnggg..." he moaned, just like one of his zombies.

"This is it!" Buck said. "He's gonna do his finisher. I used to play this one back on tape all the time." He blushed. "It was totally my awakening."

El Amante didn't have to worry about Deadboy getting up after that. Still, he needed to be put down. El Amante, smiling warmly, leaned down and positioned himself against Deadboy, hosting him up to face him. He looked lovingly into his eyes, still darting around post-concussive strike.

"Time to end this nightmare. Only sweet dreams for you..."

Smooch.

The masked hunk grabbed Deadboy around the neck in a reverse nelson, practically driving the defeated heel's chin into his sternum. As Deadboy grunted and moaned, El Amante slide his hand down and compressed his hands around Deadboy's carotid artery, depriving his head oxygenhelped, of course, by the suffocating and relentless kiss the masked fighter piled onto him.

"Mmmnggg!" Deadboy struggled and wined, his eyes watering. His seizing eventually ceased, and he fell forward, limp, and drooling.

El Amante wiped his mouth and let Deadboy's hands drop slowly. "Uno...dos...tres! That is it! LOVE WINS!"

The skeletons and zombies at ringside applauded El Amante, who did a little dance for the crowd. Meanwhile, the GSA team snapped out of their zombie state. The enchantment was shattered.

Spike, chained to the post still, blinked. "Huh?" He looked down at himself. The chain. The leather thong. He smiled. "Looks like I had a fun night. What's going on?" He glanced over at the strange, skinny audience. "Wow, those are some awesome Halloween outfits! I didn't know we were set to have a home Halloween match. The last thing I remember was..." He noticed El Amante flexing over Deadboy. "Victor? And...who's the dummy in the skeleton mask. No. WAIT!? DEADBOY!?"

"It WAS Deadboy," El Amante laughed, hands on hips, tapping the drooling, white-eyed and unconscious fiend with the front of his shoe. "I don't think he'll be doing any spellbreaking matches for awhile. Though, perhaps he will change his ways."

The skeletons slunk back into their earthly abodes, happy to have seen such an exciting match. Unseen, but perhaps present, the spirits of the dead enjoyed their return to the world of the living, leaving the once-ensorcelled spellbreakers standing around the ring more than a little bit confused. 

"Now..." El Amante leaned forward and grabbed at Deadboy's mask, peeling it off of him in strips of cheap fabric. "Wow, that craftsmanship on this is shoddy. I will have to take you to my guy in Juarez if you ever want to do this againe. You have much to learn before you can become a real, masked spellbreaker, little boy."

Deadboy's head lolled out of the torn mask and onto the canvas, revealing the handsome, pale, slumbering face of a hardly intimidating punk with messy, black hair.

"I like you better this way," El Amante said, ruffling his defeated opponent's head. "You look sweeter and you don't cause trouble. Now, let me give you a wakeup kiss." And let's see what we can do to make you a bit more happier...for all our sakes.

El Amante straddled Daemian and leaned in for a long kiss, pumping him full of good energy. The two beefcakes took on a pink aura.

Deadboy's eyes fluttered open. Stripped of his dark designs, he looked remarkably innocent. "Fuck, mate, I just had the best nap of my...huh?" He spat. "Ew! Himbo drool."

El Amante reeled back, shocked, but not because of his opponent's reaction. He cocked his head to the side, and, making sure nobody could read his lips, whispered to Daemian. "So, White Tiger. All for him?"

The cockiness and mania in Deadboy's eyes faded. He looked away, pouting. "Please...don't say anything."

"Cariño, your secret is safe with me."El Amante smiled, and kissed Deadboy's bare cheek. "We can talk about it later, stud."

"Blegh! No we won't." Deadboy tried to push the big man off him, but it was like trying to get out from beneath a ton of bricks. "Get your sweaty hands....Ooohhh. Fuck."

El Amante had placed his palms to Deadboy's bare chest, injecting him with a heavy dose of love venom. Deadboy's brain burst with endorphins and positive energy.

"There we go!" El Amante. "Just relax, Deadboy. I know what you need." He winked. "A bit of love." El Amante held his prey tight, in an embrace just beneath the force of a reverse bear hug (of course, it didn't take much; El Amante's muscles were unrivalled). The masked man soft kissed the nape of Deadboy's neck.

The defeated, dark magi punk wriggled like a worm. "EW! No..NO I hate lo---ooohhhh fucccck." How quickly his tune changed as El Amante's potent love magick took effect, turning Deadboy's brain into melting chocolate, and filling his vulnerable, wily torso with sensation.

"So high strung!" El Amante laughed lightly. He caressed Daemian's cheek, assaulting him with more kisses on the most sensitive parts of Deadboy's beck and back. "Just let Papi do all the work." His hands moved down, grabbing fistfuls of the pale mage's pectorals, working on his nips.

Spike giggled, summoning the other boys over to watch. Kengo blushed, and Gio laughed, but Spike wasn't shy about taking a few tugs on his own junk as he watched El Amante do what he did best. 

"No..." Daemian fought back weakly, going hard. "Oooh yessss."

"Let's see what we have here," Deadboy said, reaching into Daemian's trunks. "Do you want to see it, boys?"

"Hell yeah," Spike said.

Daemian was in no position to fight back. He watched helplessly as his long, uncut cock spilled out for all of his peers to see. However, he had nothing to be ashamed of.

Gio whistled. Spike gulped. "Yep. He's definitely Australian."

Though enchanted, cocky Daemian grinned at his audience. "Like what you--"

"Shhhh," El Amante said, sticking a prying finger into his moth. "Relax,: he whispered, tonguing Daemian's ear. "Be a good boy for papi. Do what he says. Wow, you're leaking a lot. I think you needed this."

"Nnooo," Daemian trembled, eyes rolling back into his head. His precume was like a river, going down on his thigh. Somehow, all those prying eyes watching him get stroke and handled by a bigger man, turned him on even more. It was rare he felt helpless. It was, he silently admitted, a refreshing change of pace.

El Amante cradled Deadboy tighter, not letting up for a second on his twisting strokes. "More like a cow than a fighter," he said. "Getting milked by a big muscle man. You love it, chico. You want to give me your load right in front of everyone. I know you want it. The freedom of feeling vulnerable in a safe space. Well, chcio, I'm the safest space there is. And now you know what it's like to be dominated." El Amante whispered this next part. "Even more than White Tiger dominated you. You're mine now."

With all of his being, Deadboy shuddered. "Oh fuck."

The moment was now. "Say it." El Amante nibbled his ears, and sloweed his strokes, picking up on Deadboy's senses to maximize the perfect motion, from base to shaft. "Here's a classic luchador technique they won't show you on televison. How's it feel?Come on, chico, say it. Shoot a load right there all over your mask and ruin that silly thing."

"Not my mask," Deadboy stammered, but it was no use. "FUCK! Yes, Papi, I give! I GIVE."

Daemian shot a creamy blast, wet at first, and then thick and ropey, all over his mask. He didn't stop either. He squeeled, arching his back into El Amante, who wouldn't let up.

"Every drop, boy. On that mask. Ruin it."

"FFFFFUCK!!!!"

Jaw hanging loose, Spike stepped away from the ring. "Wow."

Finally, El Amante relented with a final kiss. It was too much for Deadboy, who felt down right next to his ruined, soaked mask.

Spike was happy to yank off his collar and toss it right next to him. "Hmph. Serves you right, dick. You must be humiliated."

"I am..." Deadboy moaned. Then, his evil smiled returned. "And I bloody love it!"

"Huh?" Spike backed up.

Confusing even his aggressor, Deadboy sprouted up, glowing with post-orgasmic energy.  "I'm a dirty, twisted freak. Shoot ropes in front of my mates? You think THAT'S where I draw the line." He pulled El Amante to him and gave him a long kiss, finishing it licking the masked stud's lips in a snake like fashion. El Amante was half disgusted and half amused.

"D-Daemian! Oh, you are a naughty boy."

Clad only in moonlight, and cock still dripping, the proud punk stood in front of his peers, who oggled his lanky, sexy form. He jabbed a thumb into his chest. "Damn right! I'm the naughtiest. And don't you forget it, losers! Hey, masked man. Why don't we combine our powers. Turn this into a den of dark, deviant delights." He gave El Amante a sly look.

El Amante stood, bowing to his opponent with a gentlemanly floirsh. "Er...I think that's too many D's."

"Not yet!" Deadboy said, looking at his audience. "Hehehe."

Spike sighed. "Like a slasher movie villain, he just keeps getting back up again..."

The End!

'Macho' El Amante vs 'Monkey' Khemalitzli!!

"Fuck it, I just love Phuket!" Spike chirped up.

The road to the arena was lined with stalls, all of them displaying a rainbow of banners, signs, and lights. This was nothing to say of the aromas, the fruits, the foods, and the colorful clothing worn by the jovial proprietors calling out their wares to the hungry crowd drawing closer to the open air stadium.

Iggy and Spike didn't exactly blend in. Dressed in a blue floral T-shirt and a flashy aviators, Spike looked like a Hollywood celebrity. Iggy, going for a more feminine approach, wore a green sarong, their hair in a ponytails, capped with a hibiscus flower. Spike thought it nice to see his teacher in more gender fluid clothing, especially because it showed off their amazing arms and legs. 

"You look pretty great in that getup," Spike said.

Iggy adjusted their flashy sunglasses. "Nothing wrong with a sarong, kitten!"

The two spellbreakers earned their fine share of stares from the crowd around them, but they were more expressions of awe and curiosity than derision. The spellbreakers had received nothing but a warm welcome from their Thai fans since landing a few days ago. 

The two fighters had come out to support their fellow roster-member tonight, but Spike was already having a wrestling match against hunger. The sights of red, steaming prawns and chefs wok-tossing rice over tall flames made his stomach growl. "I could eat my weight in pad thai...or pineapple fried rice...or mango custard...or..."

Iggy smirked. "We get it, you're here for the food."

Spike eyed the two, beefy Thai rugby boys throwing back shots at a stall near by. "Not just the food, teach..." Then again, culture. "I wanna go to some drag shows too!" He knew that would interest his mentor, the flashy, theatrical heel.

"Kitten, we're here to support our hunky, luchador friend."

"Your boyfriend, I know, I know." 

"This is gonna be a special match, Sailor! Your roomie, Kengo, might be a spirit summoner, but his is only one kind of summoning."

Now, Spike—passing through a hanging floral arrangement partitioning the stadium entrance—was genuinely intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Iggy winked. "You'll see."

It was a fairly small arena, but the crowd was electric. A humid, tropical evening, Spike and Iggy were thankful for the open arena, and with not a cloud hanging in the clear sky, they were unlikely to get rained on. The excited audience carried paper fans and sipped from long glasses of iced tea. Cryos and Ventus magi, positioned at either end of the stadium, took shifts casting a cool climate over all. For Spike, this was the best kind of evening. No high stakes spellbreaking. Just fun.

The mistress of ceremonies, celebrated announcer and drag queen, Miss Khanom Chan, appeared on the announcer's stage in a giant, blooming lotus that burst into a snow shower of colorful petals. The giant bloom became the Plant magi's dress. She waved to her adoring fans and blew kisses, before taking up the microphone.

"Ladies and gentleman, how are we all feeling tonight!?"

"Hungry!" Spike gleefully shouted, before Iggy playfully smacked him upside the head. The crowd answered the announcer with far more focused enthusiasm. 

Face painted to perfection, and hair a beehave of blossoms, the drag queen smiled. "Okay folks, let's get to it! We have some absolute muscle studs about to go at it and get nasty. So, no matter who loses the match, we're the real winners. This match is scheduled for one fall. Coming to the ring, it's the macho papi of romance, the Romeo of the Ring, the Warrior of Love, and my future husband...El Amante Intoxico!"

From the rows, Iggy shot Miss Khanom Chan a dark look. "Keep off my man, sister. This kitten has claws!" She's lucky her outfit looks sickening...

With a red, velvet cape wrapped around his sturdy frame, El Amante looked like a regal king. Befitting a floral setting, the luchador had chosen a desert cactus inspired mask outfit tonight that his cousin, and Chloros-wielding spellbreaker, Reina Rosa had put together. He could hear excitedly rattling off the details in his head. 

"The costume is based on the acuña cactus--or Butterfly Cactus. The cactus flower, in the language of flowers, symbolizes lust/physical attraction that withstands harsh environments In addition, it attracts monarch butterflies. The cactus flower, in the language of flowers, symbolizes lust and physical attraction that withstands harsh environments."

El Amante smiled and blew kisses to his many admirers on either side of the aisle, all who reeled back in ecstasy as they were hit by his wave of love magick.

Arriving at the ring, El Amante wiped his gold boots on the apron and entered. He let the ref pat him down, and then did his sexy little strpper routine for the squeeling delight of the crowd.

"This too hot!" Miss Khanom said, unfurling a floral-patterned fan and fanning herself. "El Amante, don't go and get deported now, sweetie!"

The luchador threw off his apron, revealing his oil-coated body. El Amante had been going harder on the pec day, and when he wiggled his pecs for the crowd, it was almost obscene. But there was a lot of muscle to highlight on el cachas. Abs. Beefy biceps. Boulder shoulders. Giant legs. There was a good reason why many spellbreakers actually wanted to get put into submission holds by the Warrior of Love.

El Amante took his time doing his dance for his adoring crowd. Hips isolated, arms over head, he thrusted in slow, grinding, circular motions, as if he was seducing the whole arena.

Spike gulped. "Hard?" he asked Iggy, without looking at them.

"...Yeah."

Spike sighed. "Same."

After bowing to the ref, and giving him a small kiss on the cheek (nearly making the handsome, Thani man faint) El Amante took the microphone. Usually, Luchadors were men and women of few words. That never stopped El Amante, for whom 'too much' was never enough.

Deep voiced, with a sensual, smoky accent, El Amante greeted his crowd. "Hello, Thailand!"

Cheers, sighs, and even a few sexual moans, ensued.

"Oh wow. You are all so beautiful." El Amante, however, took a moment too long to notice the strange, glowing symbol slowly burning its way into the canvas. "Huh? This is..."

Miss Khanom Chan, distracted by El Amante's sexy dance, suddenly snapped back to reality. She cleared her throat. "That's right, folks, you're seeing a summoning sygil! Foreign guests, we do it a little different here in Thailand, as you're about to find out. Introducing El Amante's opponent, all the way from the distant realms of the Prakhai...Khemalitzli."

El Amante stood back, holding his massive arms up to the burst of flame and light that came from the summoning sygil. A shadow appeared in the light, slowly taking material form. The handsome warrior that stood before the luchador was mostly human in appearence, save for his golden hair and simian-like tail, that swung from behind him.

The unusual and attractive warrior put their knuckles together and stared defiantly at his opponent. "Hm!"

In the audience, Spike turned his head incredulously towards Iggy. "He's...a Beastman?" He had heard the phrase before. Anthropomorphic beings from other realms, other worlds (life has gotten a little weird for the spellbreakers lately). 

Iggy, full of wisdom, searched their brain index for an answer. "Hmmm. I think he might be something else."

El Amante was initially taken aback by the warrior's odd appearance, but now he was intrigued. He circled his opponent. "Beautiful muscles, my handsome friend," El Amante growled. He winked. "But can you put them to use, I wonder?" Interesting, El Amante thought, there is something almost Aztec about his outfit!

Khemalitzli was far from intimidated by the masked muscle man. "Ah, now you are quite the human," he said in a rich, almost musical voice.

El Amante sized him up. He was playful, but strong. "And here I thought I was the only stud with a nice tail here." He licked his lips. "You're going to be fun to dominate." 

"Dominate!?" the monkey warrior laughed, as if it was the most absurd suggestion in the world. "Well, you should see what my tail can do, pretty one!" Taking a more serious tone, he pounded his fist against his chest. "I AM THE GREAT KHEMALITZLI! I am warrior of people. You wanted a fight? You're gonna get one!"

"Now that's a pickup line!" El Amante growled, getting into fighting stance, muscles bulging (and not just muscles either). He's lucky I always wear my thong to hide my true 'power'. He's turning me on!

The bell rang, and the two fighters wasted no time locking up. Though they both confidently grinned, their eyes narrowed like two predators locked in a struggle for territory. Hand met giant bicep, each fighter pushing and pulling against each other.

Stronger than he looks, El Amant quietly admitted. This was getting fun! Then, they noticed something odd. It took them a second before they picked up on it. 

El Amante let his confident demeanour drop, for but a moment. "You...you have no magick!"

Khemalitzli sneered, pushing back against the brawny man's might. "Hmph! I don't need magick, masked man!" Suddenly, his eyes flashed gold. "I HAVE POWER!"

The monkey man used the momentum of El Amante's force to push him back, and wasted no time pivoting and roundhouse kicking the luchador stud right in the chest. The Mexican powerhouse was over 250 pounds, but he sailed through the air as if he'd been struck by a cannon ball!

The audience gasped. As did Spike. "Oh shit, he's strong!"

Normally cool, collected, and cocky, Iggy's eyes bugged out. He said nothing, however. They'd seen their boy in tougher scrapes before. He was made of strong stuff.

El Amante reeled back into the ropes, shaking off the blow. Even the ref felt it necessary to run to their side. But the luchador regained their posture. "What a love tap!" he said. "I like a man who packs a punch."

"You haven't seen anything yet!" Khemalitzli shouted as he JUMPED into the air with acrobatic grace, both feet landing (perfectly balanced) on the top rope. The audience reacted with shock and awe.

El Amante glared. He wasn't about to be outdone, and now this monkey idiot was starting to get too cocky for his lucky. The sweaty luchador spit on the canvas, gritted his teeth, and made a 'come-and-get-it" motion with his hand. He'd pluck that acrobatic fool right out of the air and body slam his brains out!

Khemalitzli jumped from the ropes, somersaulting in mid-air. The precision and flow was remarkable. Even El Amante, no strange to high flying was duly impressed! Even more so when Khemalitzli switched things up and turned his dive into a kick instead!

Boot met masked head. El Amante went sailing back, knocked absolutely senseless.

Iggy balled their hands up into fists. "Come on, guapo. Enough monkey business!"

El Amant turned and spat blood onto the canvas, heaving, but not down for the count. The crowd was stunned that he was even able to stand. So was Khemalitzli.

"No bad, my monkey amigo." El Amante's eyes glowed violet. The mood in the ring changed. "I think perhaps your energy needs to come down a knotch. Why skip the foreplay?"

The monkey warrior was ready to give El Amante another one, this time to his square-cut jaw, and settle this quick, but he was hit by the spellbreaker's unusual aura. The fight wasn't taken out of him, not entirely, but he felt less hot blooded. Calmer.

It was all El Amante needed to act. He grit down on the pain to his skull and pivoted around Khemalitzli grabbing him around the waist. Before the warrior from another world could react, the luchador reached down and cupped a handful of his ass, tail included.

"HEY!" the suddenly embarrassed monkey yelped. He tried to pull away, but it was the exact reaction El Amante was looking for. He booted the monkey in the butt and knocked him into the canvas, trapping his tail between his legs.

The beefy, masked man began to stroke the warrior's tail suggestively, making it almost erect. "Oooh, he went hard, everyone!" He pointed and laughed. "Did you see that!?"

The audience reeled back, enjoying the warrior's humiliation. Red face and angry, the warrior finally yanked his tail away and got back onto his feet...not knowing that El Amante's 'love venom' had slowly begun to take effect.

Khemalitzli was shaken, but he wasn't done. "You will pay for that!" he snarled.

"Oh, will I?" came El Amante's response, he bounced off the ropes, quicker than the (now slower) Khemalitzli could follow, delivering a stunning, stuff lariat to the monkey king's sternum. 

CRACK!

Even Iggy, out in the audience, felt that one! But while Spike winced empathetically at the searing strike, the more sadistic Iggy Astro grinned. "My hunk hits like a truck! Looks like monkey met is about to be on the menu!"

The blow knocked Khemalitzli to the canvas, and nearly took him out. The ref went to their knees in anticipation, and it was a good thing too...because El Amante was already setting up his next move.

El Amante brought their elbow down hard on Khemalitzli's stomach, knocking whatever wind was left inside them! He didn't got for pin, however. Instead, he took the opportunity to grab and twist the proud warrior's nipples.

"GET OFF!" Khemalitzli managed to squeak. Ooh, that feels good.

"So rude!" the luchador tut-tutted, yanking the warrior onto his back and setting him up for a dragon sleeper. The luchador shoved the monkey king's face into his sweaty, cologne-coated pits, forcing a masculine, domininant aroma into the stunned warrior's open mouth and nose. 

Oxygen and blood flow restricted, the Khemalitzli couldn't help but take big gasps of air...each time, inhaling the intoxicating the luchador's pungent scent. He choked and sputtered, but inside, he was turned on.

"How do you like my masculine scent?" El Amant laughed, grinding his armpit and chest into Khemalitzli's handsome face.

"MMmmmmm!"

"What was that," El Amante asked, blowing a kiss to the ref. "Is that a 'mi rindo'? Eh? You already smell like me now, so I guess that's makes you mine!"

Khemalitzli managed to summon their spectacular strength and pull away, gasping for fresh air. It was no use though. They were covered completely in their opponent's aroma. It was a humiliation of the highest order. One Khemalitzli would not soon forgive. To make matters worse for him, El Amante's pheromones had taken their toll, giving the warrior an unwitting erection that wasn't about to go down any time soon. For days to come, the lingering scent would make Khemalitzli instantly hard. How embarrassing and emasculating for a virile warrior!

Now, Khemalitzli and El Amante glared at each other from the other side of the arena, each fighter breathing heavily and dripping sweat onto the canvas. They were well matched, and it had proved an interesting fight.

But it was time to bring it to a close.

Khemalitzli and El Amante were like dancers in perfect time and rhythm. Each men, with a warrior's grace, turned and threw their momentum against the ropes, picking up more speed. Two runaway trains speeding towards each other, it looked like the Warrior Monkey might knock El Amante's head clean off his shoulders with a killer clothesline.

At the last second, El Amante ducked, avoiding the stiff forearm. He wrapped his giant arms around Khemalitzli's back, and clamped down in an iron grip. It was bear hug of monstrous proportions. El Amante's biceps bulged, veins popping, and back muscles rippling as he put all his muscle and all his magick into squeezing the life out of Khemalitzli.

Khemalitzli struggled to breathe. Their eyes bulged out of their skull, and their ribs creaked and groaned under the massive amount of pressure. Any lesser being would have been crushed into a messy pulp, but even the warrior from the other world was starting to break. On top of that, El Amante had pumped him full of his potent, seductive magick, so that Khemalitzli was aware of the pain, but not processing it, feeling an overwhelming pleasure instead.

El Amante knew what he was doing. This was too easy. He smirked at his opponent, whose face was contorting in a battle between pain and pleasure. "Yeah, you like it when papi holds you close, eh?" El Amante drove home the statement by slowly grinding his massive bulge against Khemalitzli's.

If the warrior were even capable of looking down, he'd see a wet spot begin to form. This wasn't good. He was either going to crush or blow first!

"What do you say?" the ref pleaded, reminded of several 'watermelon' demonstrations in which body builders had squeezed the pulpy fruit apart. 

El Amante's slow, methodical grinding was so subtle that the ref couldn't even catch it. He looked into his opponent's blood shot eyes knowingly, as if to say, 'this is our little secret'.

"Kiss me and I'll let you go."

Khemalitzli was about to pass out, break, or bust. He had no choice. He closed his eyes and presented his mouth, giving it up, completely emasculated.

El Amante's lips found it. "Good little monkey," he whispered, letting his tongue and lips find his opponent's. It was like a completely different submission move. El Amante pumped his energy straight into Khemalitzli's mouth, forcing it down his throat and into his system. A double dose of love venom.

Whatever happened to Khemalitzli in that intimate moment, he would refuse to say for years to come, too embarrassed. But he found himself taken by the overwhelming pleasure and pain. His sensed couldn't cope. The last thing Khemalitzli thought was how defeated he felt, becoming a plaything for another man, as he slipped into sweet oblivion.

El Amante held the kiss a moment longer, even as the bell peeled and the ref began to break away. He couldn't help it! A handsome, muscle man had just passed out in his arms. The luchador gently lowered him to the canvas and leaned over, his stringy, sweaty hair falling in front of his chest and dangling teasingly over his defeated opponent. He placed both hands on the warrior's sweaty chest for the pin.

"Uno...do...tres..."

Victorious, and sexy, reggaeton music blaring, El Amante leaned over and gave his unconscious opponent a revitalizing kiss, bringing him back from the brink.

Khemalitzli's eyes fluttered open. He was delerious. That bear hug had beruttaly sapped him of all his strength. "Ughh...what happened?" He realized who the pair of soft, sultry, dark eyes belonged to and winced. "No..."

El Amante laughed and patted his opponent tenderly on the shoulder. "Afraid you lost, mi amor." He helped him off the ground, bringing him back onto his feet.

The luchador smiled magnanimously at his sullen, embarrassed opponent. He placed both his hands on Khemalitzli's shoulders. "But...that was exciting! You are very strong, my friend!"

Khemalitzli, angry, but gracious in defeat, scratched the back of his neck. "Oh, thanks."

Out in the audience, Iggy and Spike collectively wiped the nervous sweat from their brows...though really, there had been no doubt that their beloved fighter would come out on top. Miss Khanom Chan enthusiastically announced the winner of the fight, and summoned a rain of rose petals in El Amante's honor.

In the ring, El Amante grabbed the mic and proudly raised his opponent's arm. He had nothing but respect for him. "Hola thailand! How about a cheer for the two kings! King of Romance and King of Monkeys!

The audience cheered, and Khemalitzli, though still annoyed at his loss, warmly embraced his new friend.

"Though your amorous moves are deceptive and strong, luchador, none can deny you are worthy of the moniker Warrior of Love." He shook his hand, fondly. 

El Amante gave the warrior a graceful and deeply respectful bow. "Human or not, love is universal. As is honor and respect. You were a great sport! You deserve an El Amante lap dance."

A sexy reggaeton beat came on over head, and a pink aura fell upon the ring. Khemalitzli, confused, suddenly found a beefy, sweaty, and amorous masked stud pick him up in the air and begin grinding on him against the turnbuckle.

Iggy rolled their eyes, ignoring Spike drooling at the masculine, erotic display. "Ugh...Viki...why?"

Red faced and slightly bewildered, Khemalitzli held on for dear life. "Erm...you humans do have such interesting rituals!"

Behind the floral mask, El Amante winked. "Just lay back and relax, stud. Let papi do his thing..."

The End

Spike's Birthday Surprise

"I'm so spent..."

Sore and sweaty, the fatigued Sailorboy Spike dragged his feet close behind his friend and mentor, Iggy Astro, several paces away and not a care in the world. The August heat didn't help, though even Spike—who felt very much near death—had to admit it was a beautiful evening at the GSA ranch. And not simply for persona reasons either.

A red flannel wrapped around Iggy's waist, and a cut off band T-shirt/crop top lined their sickening body. Hair in a rare ponytaile, Iggy walked with their arms wrapped casually around their neck.

"That's the third time you've mentioned it since we finished drills," Iggy sighed. "Honestly, Spike, you can take so much punishment. It's very sexy."

The compliment, as well as the whiff of B.O. Spike kept getting from his favorite heel and mentor's armpits, renewed his strength. Iggy had intentionally opted to forgo deodorant tonight. And it was headlock endurance night. Spike's neck stung but it had been worth it.

Iggy and Spike approached the little guest house around the back of the Tamberly boy's (and pet Maine Coon cat Zeus') farm house. Crickets chirped in the night air, adding a lovely, romantic ambiance to another wise balmy evening in the Texan Republic. The house with the green shutters was dead silent and dark.

"Did I mention it was my birthday?" Spike said casually.

"That would be the...hmmm...fourth time, yes." Iggy turned around and flicked Spike pointedly on the forehead, laughing at his pained expression. "Did you think I was going to go easy on you just because you're 23 now? Now, be a good boy and help me take these crates of El Amante merch back to the truck for tomorrow night's show."

I can barely lift a slice of pizza to my mouth, Spike inwardly lamented as they walked up the little steps to the screen door. But he dared not say anything in front of Iggy. One wrong word, and that sinister smile would cross his beautiful lips, followed by some corporal punishment...or lack thereof, if Spike was enjoying being bullied already. Iggy knew when to withhold too.

"So why does Victor get a whole damn house to himself," Spike asked as Iggy fiddled with their keys. Of course, Iggy had keys to their luchador boyfriend's sweet digs.

"Colt goes a long way back with Victor and Rosa's family," Iggy explained, fiddling with the keyring. "Ugh, which one, which one. Practice ring. Gym. Dungeon. Ah, here we go. Anyways, Victor was one of Colt's earliest students. Of course, he'd been training long before coming to the GSA. He actually does a lot around here! So, figures he got the guest house and I got a yucky dorm room!" Iggy stuck out his tongue. "I used to be a rock star, kitten. A genuine rock star!"

"At least you have a single," Spike groaned. "Not that I would trade rooming with Kengo for the world!" Which was the genuine truth. He had hoped to have spent his birthday night with his favorite bear and roommate, but Kengo apparently had plans. Come to think of it, so did a lot of Spike's fellow trainees, leaving him alone.

Not that he was too mad or sad about it. Birthdays were always sort of 'meh' affairs to Spike. Came with the territory when you grew up in an orphanage. Still, Spike had banked on at least a bit more revelry at the GSA, and had even considered going out to the Rainbow Saloon (where Victor/El Amante worked as a bouncer) for a drink on himself (and a bit of a birthday cruise) but now he was so dog tired that sleep was the best gift he could give himself now. 

Spike followed Iggy into the dark house. "I just want to take a shower and cuddle up with a bottle of rum. Wow, Victor's house smells so good! Like cinnamon. Hey, Iggy, can you hit the lights, it's so damn da--"

"SURPRISE!"

Lights, and the faces of several of Spike's fellow trainees, hit him up the side of the head like a steel chair. It took him a few seconds to realize what had just happened (as well as to not go into cardiac arrest)

Jaw retracted back into his face, Spike reeled back in instant shyness—he loved having the spotlight on him, but only when he knew it was coming. He felt himself reel over. "I'M GONNA THROW UP!"

"No, you're not!" Iggy said, stabilizing him and pushing him into the room full of smiling friends with solo cups.

It was whirlwind of emotion. Spike was in complete and utter shock! All of his friends, here, cramped into a semi studio space full of balloons and tasteful Southwestern décor. Stunned and smiling like an idiot, Spike did the rounds, embracing and thanking all who showed up. His eyes fell on a keg of beer propped against a cartable full of liquor, beer bottles, and boxes of pizza. At the back of the room, taking in the good vibes, Victor. He wore tight jeans and even tighter, lavender shirt that could barely restrain his pec cleavage. Spike briefly locked eyes with the masked man, who smiled warmly at him and raised his solo cup in salute. Spike blushed and turned to hug the luchador's spunky cousin, and Spike's best friend, Rosa. Big Kuma Kengo, dressed in a very formal (and well-fitting) suit, accompanied her. 

The girl in red gave him the double cheek kiss. "We had to wait in the dark so long!" She gently cuffed him on the shoulder.

"Thank you!" Spike said. "I think?" He politely took the beer she handed him.

"I am sorry for lying to you," Kengo said, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. "But I wanted to surprise you roommate Birthday hug!"

"Best birthday hug ever," Spike said, burying his face into Kengo's bulk. He'd finally mastered how to squeeze him without crushing his ribs. Progress. "Hey hey just watch you don't spill the beer!"

Rosa threw a sideways look at her buff cousin, now making small talk with his mentee and fellow luchador, Blue Dragon. "Viki wanted to do the thing where we shove your face in the cake when you blow the candles out." She shrugged. "Mexican tradition. I talked him out of it."

Spike nearly spat out his beer. "WHAT!? Don't get me wrong, I love burying my face in cake, but that seems like a waste of perfectly good pastry!"

"Ugh. You're so sweaty. And you smell."

Spike blinked, unsure if he'd really heard the familliar voice behind him. He turned around and looked over at the smug, handsome, redhead. "Cian? You...you came to my birthday party?"

He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. "What else was I gonna do on a Friday night, paint my toenails? Besides, free beer and pizza?" He sighed. "Happy birthday, boyo. Hopefully this year I get to kick you ass."

"I'd be honored," Spike said. This was crazy nice! I'm seriously gonna cry if I don't start to drinking. "Is that New York style pizza!?"

"Well, the closest you can get to it anyway," Buck, wearing a tasteful, floral button up said. He didn't waste time pulling Spike into a tight embrace.

But it was the cheek kiss, held perhaps a second too long, that Spike really appreciate. In fact, he was speechless. Which was a feat, considering his infamous mile-a-minute mouth.

Why is my heart beating so fast?

"Happy Birthday, you goober," sly Buck, heir to the GSA said. "I got you a card. Dad signed it. He's busy, of course."

Spike looked down at the work of art in his hands. There he was in comic form, rendered in colored pencil, punching Vahni Rage in the face.

"DID YOU MAKE THIS?" Spike said, forcing his eyeballs from falling out of his skull. This was a work of art!

"Oh, that's not the only thing he made," Rosa said, coming up behind her 'will-they, or won't-they pseudo boyfriend. She handed Spike a small, flat box tied with a navy blue ribbon. "Well, I helped too."

"She sewed it," Buck added.

"Buck, you're gonna spoil it!"

Thankfully, Spike was too distracted by the shiny bow to hear them. Tongue hanging out of his mouth, the tiny titan ripped the ribbon off with ease and opened the box. A white sheet of tissue paper lay inside.

"Awww," Spike said. "I love paper!"

"It's...beneath the paper, Spike."

"Oh! Gotcha." Spike lifted the soft paper up. His eyes almost immediately welled with tears. "STAHP! You guys..."

It was a brief-cut pair of trunks and knee covers, both in royal, navy blue velvet. Rosa had stitched a white anchor, Spike's icon, over the crotch. The back, appropriately, was embroidered in fine lettering that read: Sailorboy.

Spike pulled his friends into a giant bearhug. "THIS IS THE GREATEST FUCKIN' GIFT!"

"Erp..." Buck groaned, struggling against the too-tight embrace. "Spike, you're really strong! I can't breathe!"

"Oops," Spike let them go. "Seriously though. This is amazing. Probably the best birthday I ever had."

Which was, by and large, very true. Spike spent the rest of the time co-mingling with his fellow spellbreakers, drinking beer, and wolfing down pepperoni pizza (it was no New York style, but it wasn't bad). More than seeing everyone turn out for him though, Spike was warmed to seeing his buds having a good time hanging out. With the world tournament coming up, the crew had been a bit on edge lately. It was nice to let off steam.

Feeling more confident, thanks, in part, due to the liquid courage, Spike snuck to the edge of the room, where Victor and Gio were drinking wine and regarding Victor's collection of potted cacti and succulents.

"Is Icy still back in Toronto?" Victor asked his large, hirsute friend.

"Si," Gio said, swirling the wine in the glass. "Probably beating up all the boys and bullying them."

"And then sleeping with them," Victor laughed. "And what about Deadboy?"

"Do not say his name so loud! He might hear us, come creeping out from the shadows, and make us drink beer from the shoe again!"

"Ah, Australians."

"Still, Viki, it would be nice to have the whole family back together again. I know Joseph was busy tonight too, but..."

"Hey studs," Spike interjected, unsure who his coaches were talking about. "Oh wow, Victor, I love your cacti!"

Spike was not, in fact, looking at the cacti. But somewhere else entirely...

Gio smiled proudly. "I help him with them." 

"Err...yeah." Embarrassed, Victor looked away. "I may have killed the first batch."

"Do you know how hard it is to kill a cactus?" Gio whispered in Spike's ear.

Victor cleared this throat, clapping his hands together for silence. "Ahem! Now it is time for the stripper!"

Spike nodded along. "It's...WHAT?"

"Yes." Victor said, tossing his hair back. "Me." he pointed to Iggy, standing dutifully by the record player, which had been playing rockabilly and motown for most of the night. "Musica!"

Rosa put her drink down next to Buck and pointed to the door. "I'm gonna go."

"I'm gonna stay!" Buck said, drooling as he took his seat on the couch. Rosa, sighing deeply, abandoned the boys to their fun.

Before Spike could speak, he found Gio forcing him down onto a folding chair. He blinked, in confusion, as a raunchy reggaeton bop blasted out from the player.

Victor sauntered over, gyrating his hips and turning around on the beat. He unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, and then tossed it to the side with the grace and poise of someone accustomed to taking off their clothes. He revealed his gorgeous, buff, ripped body to the other men in the room.

"Oh wow."

"I think I'm gay."

"I think I'm gayer."

Spike, a little embarrassed, but mostly excited, found his head being pushed into Victor's crotch, and then immediately picked up off the seat and dry-humped in the mid-air. Oh wow. He's good. He's REALLY good at this. 

Victor wove his love spell, but it wasn't even necessary. His movements were masculine and erotic. He tossed his hair like an unbridled stallion in heat, and teased Spike by pulling down the back of his jeans, slowly, revealing a cherry-red thong.

"He wore that for me last night," Iggy whispered coquettishly in Gio's ear.

Victor turned and presented his rippling back for Spike's pleasure...as well as his muscle ass, which he bounced and flexed, g-string completely eaten up between his cheeks.

Spike was already rock hard, but now he was duly impressed. And, perhaps, envious too. Not possible...my ass is the ass that is legendary. This ass is beyond mortal power! 

The ripped luchador (still masked, naturally) straddled Spike, careful not to crush him under his bulk, and rode him, grinding against him. Spike, bright red but loving it, caressed the wrestler's giant pecs and biceps. What I'd give for just one night...

Victor got a bit bolder with his tease, pulling Spike's face into the ample bulge of his thong--which already showed off a hint of Victor's dick cleavage. Even though Spike was fully aware all eyes in the room were on him, he wasn't shy about rubbing his face all over it.

"Wow. He's really going for it."

"Wasn't he raised by nuns?"

"Yeah, they did a bad job."

"It's Spike's party, what did you expect?"

Amused, Victor pulled back his generous birthday package and held up a finger. "Now, now," he said, teasing Spike by poking his nose. "Just a taste for now."

"Where do I put the dollars?" Spike said, mischievously. Only a cocky ex-pinup like Spike would dare try and seduce back a stripper. He parted his legs for Victor to see the outline of his hardon in his silk workout shorts. "Or would you like me to return the favor?"

For a moment, the hunky stripping luchador looked blindsided. But he resumed his normal cool. "This one is on the house," he said. "You are very, naughty, Spike. You may need to get punished later."

"Oh?" Spike asked, demurely. "Punish me? What kind of punishment.

The music finished, maybe sooner than Spike had hoped. To answer Spike's question, Victor looked down and grabbed his junk (though junk, perhaps, was too crude a word to describe the beauty that lay between his legs). He leaned forward and gave Spike a quick peck on the lips, before pushing him back and away.

Spike was speechless. "I...yes."

"That is the usual reaction," Victor said, with a sly wink. "Happy birthday, guapo." He put his jeans back on, much to the disappointment of almost everyone in the room. "I also got you a more tangible gift." He grabbed a pretty bottle of liquor on the shelf and handed it to Spike.

"I mean that was pretty fuckin' tangible. Yeah, it definitely looks like I tanged a little. Oh hey, tequila! My favorite!" He leered mischievously at his host. "Y'all wanna do shots?"

"Don't do it!" Sanjay alerted the others, who were all still reeling from Victor's sensual performance. "Spike can drink anybody under the table. And tequila? This will turn into an orgy at the drip of a hat."

"Hey," Iggy said, annoyed, "don't go ruining a good time."

And it was true—Victor's ambient love magick had worked too well. Whether they were fully aware of it or not, all the men in the room and suddenly coupled up into private conversations. Even Cian, still shy about his seldom explored sexuality, was making eyes at Buck. Strangely though, Buck kept throwing hungry looks at Spike, who was both oblivious and free-pouring tequila into his and Victor's red cups.

It had been almost a year now since Spike had been kicked out of the Navy, and he'd missed that sense of comradery. Now, he had it in abundance. He felt accepted. Loved. He was in awe of his peers, supporting them as much as they supported him. And so, in a rare glimpse of maturity (hey, 23!) Spike raised his solo cup to the crowd.

"All of these presents are amazing, guys. I..." he found himself choking. "Nah. I'm not gonna' cry. You are all so wonderful. I'm lucky to have you as my teammates! I feel the love." He threw back the tequila in one gulp. "I'm also drunk!"

Drinks were had, though truthfully not that much more. Guests began to pour out, giving Spike well wishes and tight hugs (and some kisses) before filing out the door. Iggy was the last one left, and one of the few to notice that Spike and Victor had gotten chummy around the card table, swapping stories.

"Viki," Iggy said, trying hard to seem responsible. He pointed to Spike. "Make sure he gets back to the dorms safe." He turned and opened the screen door, but not before looking coyly over his shoulder. "And...make sure he has a good birthday night."

He shut the door behind him. Spike hardly realized that it was just him and Victor left in the room.

Victor got up to pour Spike a glass of water. "You feeling good, chico?"

"Yes," Spike said, pouring himself and Victor one last shot. "Here's the last one. I want to remember tonight, not blackout!"

"Sounds like something a mature, twenty-three-year old would say." Victor smiled at Spike with his eyes, and held up the cup. "To two lonely boys with sad childhoods who turned out somewhat okay."

"Or at least, turned out hot as fuck." Spike tipped the cup of tequial to him "Salud." He tossed it back and sighed. "You know, it's nice to see you outside of training and all of that."

"Ah, I'm a busy man, Spike! I feel bad not taking the time to talk to you more."

"It's okay, man of mystery. You know...to be honest...I was super intimidated when I met you."

"Ha! Who wouldn't be." Victor stood up and flexed. Veins popped in both of his boulder biceps. "With muscles like these."

"They...are pretty nice." Spike gulped down his water, but there was an entirely different thirst he felt needed quenching now. He stood up and walked over to the kitchen sink. "Hey, I'm just gonna get another glass of water."

Spike used the moment to recollect himself. There was a tension in the air. He recognized it. He'd been here before. That moment when two people want something but are too afraid to act, even though they know the answer. Spike poured water into his glass and took another gulp.

"Did Iggy want you to haul those boxes of shirts back tonight?" Victor asked. He scooped a few glasses, stacking them with the expertise of someone who had been working at a bar for a solid period of time.

"Yeah, it's not problem." Spike put the glass down. He heard Victor come up behind him. He was glad the man couldn't see him grin. "I should get going soon anyway."

He turned around. Victor, looking at him, reached behind him and placed the glasses in the sink. His wide arms were now to either side of Spike, with the muscular, blond caught between.

"Do you want to leave?" Victor asked.

"No..." Spike said.

There is a magick in a first kiss between two people impossibly attracted to each other. No words need to be exchanged. It operates on an invisible language. In that moment, all Spike and Victor—who were both comically mismatched in height—had to do was look at each other, before their lips met, and met hard.

Moments passed. Victor held Spike firmly, gently, pulling him in close. His tongue prodded his mouth, but not invasively. His kiss was soft, but potent, empowered by his magick.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, Spike pulled away slowly, surprised at himself. Usually, his first time kissing a new guy was forceful or playful or slutty. This was different. It wasn't 'love' (not that Spike had known that before) but it was mature and different.

Spike and Victor looked at each other, unsure of what had just happened. 

"I...have wanted to do that for awhile," Spike said. 

"I know." Victor reached up and stroked the side of Spike's face with his finger tips, a soft and powerful caress. "Should we keep going or would you like me to walk you home? I know you've been drinking."

"Keep going," Spike said. He smiled, with confidence and surity, lost in Victor's dark eyes. The fact that he had never seen his face...it almost made it feel more pure somehow. "Seriously. I promise you Victor, this is the most sober decision I have EVER made."

"Thank Goddess," Victor said, his finger tip finding its ways into Spike's mouth.

Spike took it in and sucked it, long and deep, before slowly removing it. "Why?" he asked.

Victor laughed, but it didn't ruin the moment. "Uhhh...because you are hot?" He leaned in, powerfully and hungry and in complete control. "I love compact, muscular studs like you. Face of an angel. Body of a devil. Spike, the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew I had have you one day."

They kissed again. Longer. Deeper. Spike didn't even care he had to stand up taller in order to reach the masked stud. His arms were strong around his waist. They picked Spike off the ground, just as he had done during his strip tease, and held him in the air. Spike wrapped his thick legs around Victor and allowed himself to be carried over to the lounge in the back of the room, by his comfy looking bed with the satin sheets. He sat him down on the edge of the bed and then easily removed his pants again. Spike looked up, almost at eye level with his cock, but it was the man's entire pysique that took his breath away. Abs. Pectorals. Giant legs. Massive arms. He was a god on Earth; of course he couldn't reveal his face to mere mortals; Spike was already burning up admiring him.

"I just know you're handsome as hell behind that mask," Spike said, breathelessly. He kissed Victor's abs. Hard as diamond (and double for Spike's cock right now). "Can I touch your muscles?"

"Mi amor," Victor said, taking Spike's hands and guiding them up his ab muscles, "my body is your playground tonight."

"Fuck." Spike was trying very hard to to drool. He was tenting so hard in his workout shorts that he worried he might drill a hole through them. But worries quickly faded away. All he cared about was worshipping his master's muscles.

Victor sensed as much, and flexed his arm for him. Spike's hands followed his mouth and tongue. He fondled the masked fighter's mountainous bicep, inspecting every bulging vein, first with hands, then with tongue, capping it off with a series or worshipful kisses. 

Every new muscle offered a new delight. Spike pulled his head back and looked down at Victor's chest, so large and round that it was almost obscene. "These arms and pecs," Spike said, grabbing a handful, only for Victor to bounce his pec. "Ffffuck."

"Watch," Victor said, with a mix of mischeif and juvenile cocikness. He flexed his chest muscles in perfect isolation. His upper pecs contracting, and then making them bounce up and down with his middle pec muscles. It wasn't just hot, it was a damn feat of the human body.

Spike felt a trail of percum leak down his leg. His jockstrap was already soaked through.

He coulsn't control himself. Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was Victor's magick. Spike fell forwrd and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of Victor's meaty neck, taking in a scent of fine cologne and natural man. "I love muscle guys," Spike moaned.

"You're a sweet kid," Victor said, kissing Spike on the cheek. And speaking of cheek, he cupped Spike's bubble butt. "With a fucking hot ass," he said, punctuating the statement with a slap to Spike's rock hard rear. "Damn! Iggy said he enjoyed fucking that. I can see why."

Normally, Spike would have been offended. Truthfully, he loved the idea that Iggy had told their partner how much enjoyed using him like a slut. "He tore it up," Spike said, biting his lip. He returned to worshipping Victor's chest, gleefully narrating the encounter, hoping it might stir up some animal jealously. "Fucking cored me out, made it gape, and made me watch in the mirror. They've got a great cock."

"One of the many reasons Iggy is mi amor," Victor said, looking at Spike hungrily suckle his nips. "And we love to share our toys. Do you want to be my toy Spike? Ah, you like the pecs don't you."

"I love everything about you," Spike said, eyes watering (and mouth too). If this was El Amante's spell, Spike never wanted him to lift it. Was it possible to get drunk off a person? "You're so hot. I know I talk a game, but..."

Victor laughed lightly, pressing his finger to Spike's lips, enjoying how he took it into his mouth. "You have a playful, slutty, sexuality. Like a college boy. I, on the other hand, am a gentleman of seduction. My sensuality is my power. You must learn to take it slow. To withold. To tease. I will teach you so many things." He leaned in and kissed Spike deeply, tonguing the inside of his mouth, before pulling back. "Would you like me to show you how it's done, my apprentice?"

There weren't enough languages to say 'yes'. Spike, choked by raw lust, just nodded submissively. He would let this man do terrible things to him. He honestly hoped he would.

But El Amante wasn't one of those 'alpha' types who drilled and jackhammered their submissive partners and called it a day. His method was relaxed. Sensual. Targeted. Like the Scorpion tattoo on his massive shoulder, his venom worked slow, building up. He was content to return Spike's slow caresses and rubs, looks of longing (his eyes were gorgeous, but it helped that was one of the few facial details Spike could see), interrupted only by briefs utterances of "Wow," when Victor touched a muscle he liked. 

"You have such a great body, Spike," Victor (kneeling now) said, kissing Spike's neck and abs. His hands finally moved to Spike's bulge. His shorts had a massive wet spot. In any other circumstance, Spike would have been embarrassed.

But with his head reared back in ecstasy, he didn't care. "Please. Touch me there."

"I intend to so much more, chico," Victor said, rubbing and fondling Spike's bulge. "Let me do the honors." He pulled off Spike's workout shorts, and admired Spike's jockstrap pouch, which was half hanging off his erect cock. "Blue jockstrap?"

Spike smiled down at his stud. "Gotta be on brand."

"Mmmm." Victor looked at Spike's bulge, fondling it and rubbing it with his thumb. He took his time with everything. Savored it. "Can I be a bit of a dog right now?" he asked, looking up at Spike. He leaned forward and took a whiff. "Mmm. Yes, that smells good. Just worked out, right?" 

Spike felt scandalized (though this wasn't his first rodeo). "Oh fuck..."

"I love mouthing it first. Teasing it." Victor put his lips on Spike, sucking on his pouch. "Tastes so good. But let's see if you are a worthy opponent to El Amante's glory."

The moment of revelation. Victor pulled down Spike's pouch, revealing seven and a half of inches of Sailorboy. Spike's cock was just a bit girthy, with a slight upwards hook, like a devil tail, belaying his impish nature. He'd though once, fleetingly, of getting it pierced (but was too afraid of needles).

In any case, Victor was a fan. Again, he uttered a low, throaty, "Wow." His way of sex was quiet and cool, with a slow-burn passion. Iggy had mentioned casually to Spike that Victor was a 'textbook Scorpio'. From what Spike gathered, it meant that not only would this man fuck him great, but would totally consume his senses while he did.

"Spike, you have a beautiful cock. Bigger than I expected." Victor was content to play with it, rub his knuckles against it, admire it.

Spike wasn't sure if he should take offense to that or no. "Hey, what's that supposed to....Ohhhhhh fffffuck."

He was cut off, of course, by Victor completely engulfing Spike's mouth with his cock. He didn't even lick or go slow. He took it all into his throat with masterful expertise, letting his big lips do the work. Spike liked getting head, so this wasn't anything new, but he could safely say he hadn't been sucked off this hard before. Whatever Victor was doing with his throat, his tongue, his movements, was pure magick.

My life might be in danger, Spike thought, eyes rolling in the back of his head as every never on his cock was activated. I'm fine with that. Twenty three? Dying from orgasm from a muscle stud? Fine way to go.

Victor pulled his lips away, a mercy. "You like that, chico?" he said slyly, caressing Spike's abs with one hand and circling his thumb around Spike's glans with the other. "You can hold onto my mask, if you want. As long as you don't try to pull it off."

"In the position I'm in?" Spike said. "I'm dumb but not that....ffffffuck."

He was cut off by Victor's head game. The man was an an artist. Eventually, he took his mouth off Spike's cock and started to milk it, tugging it closer to his chest.

Spike took the lead and moved his cock head up the valley of Victor's pectorals, nice and smooth. It felt amazing. He realized he could probably fuck his pecs if he wanted to. But he would settle for dragging his shaft and cock head up to their peaks, across his nipple. It was dirty and depraved, but he didn't care.

"Yeah," Victor said, enamoured with Spike's worship of his chest. "Slap that nice cock against those pecs for me."

Spike did as he was told, slamming his meat against Vic's chest as the muscular fighter bounced and flexed his pecs, adding to the sensation. "Ohhhh," Spike groaned, at a loss. He had reached a trance like state. He didn't care how depraved he was with his cock. Victor alternated between mouthing it and forcing Spike to worship his pecs with his cock head, admiring the cocktail of saliva and precum that dripped onto his meaty muscles.

"I'm not gonna last long," Spike moaned. This was beyond anything he'd felt before. A damn great birthday.

"I can make it feel really good with my power," Victor said, grinning, and in total control of his boy. "But you might faint."

Spike took a deep breath. I better not regret this. "Fuck, do it." He knew he was thinking with his cock, which was close to shooting anyway, but it didn't matter. 

"You probably will cum right away," Victor warned, as he pressed his finger tip to Spike's cockhead, injecting it with a wave of warmth.

"Don't care just—" he was cut off by the overwhelming sensation of something pushing its way into his prostate and base of his shaft at the same time, a feeling that was painful and uncomfortable for all of a second, before all of the serotonin inside Spike's brain released himself, and all of his genital muscles contracted at the same time.

It would have been embarrassing, if Spike was capable of any other thought. His voice cracked. "OH FUCK I'M GONNA CUM."

"Aim for my pecs," Victor said softly, "I want you to cover them."

Spike did as told, but it was a photo finish. "OH FUCK. OH I'M GONNA SHOOT SO HARD."

He wanted to scream, and had to bite down on his tongue to prevent himself from doing so. Whatever Victor had done to him was impossible to describe. It was like an orgasm from a different part of Spike's cock than he was used to. He shot out the fattest load of spunk he'd ever seen, at a high velocity and volume. He moaned and gasped, as he pumped a load of cream all over Victor's chest, watching it slide down smooth.

"Wow," Victor said, impressed. "That's incredible." Watching Spike try and not faint back down on the bed, contented Victor gathered Spike's cum in his finger and put it to his lips. He kissed Spike with it. "Taste yourself, boy."

Spike could have been told anything in that moment and he would have gladly done it. He was far gone. Eyes in the back of his head, all he could do was let free a string of giggles, in disbelief of what had happened.

But he wanted more.

"I need to keep going," Spike, already exhausted, said. He dropped to his knees, in front of Victor's tenting bulge in his red thong. He looked at it like an object of worship. There's no way I'm taking in this giant man's cock after all that pizza. Not a problem. I'll suck out his soul instead.

"It's my love magick, mi amor. It's addicting." Victor was patient and understanding. "I'll make sure you sober up by the--"

"Shut up and let me suck that cock!" Spike snarled, like an addict cut off from the source. He couldn't contain himself. Slut became aggressive slut, a tiger on the hunt for raw meat. Spike yanked Victor's thong off and pulled it down his legs. 

"HOLY SHIT," Spike said.

Victor, ready to receive Spike's mouth, looked down. "Everything okay, handsome?"

It was beyond okay. Spike looked upon Victor's glory. Sure, it had been hyped. He had tempered his expectations, even. But to look upon it now was like staring at a priceless work of art. Nine inches of length and an optimal amount of girth, straight and beautifully shaped, with a spherical and symmetrical head. It was, without a doubt, the sceptre of a king, beautiful in its composition, right down to the length of cum vein that ran across it. The Goddess herself must have shaped this cock, Spike thought, taking in Victor's equally large and finely shaped balls. He was shaved smooth, which was hardly a surprise. Spike placed a finger against the tip, where a bead of precum, formed like a white pearl.

Hungrily admiring his cock, Spike looked up submissively into his master's eyes. "Victor, this should be in the fuckin' Met." He couldn't control himself. He took all of Victor's length inside his mouth and made a silent vow to give him the best head of his life.

The feedback was promising. "Oh...fuck, Spike, your mouth." He leaned back in rapture, daring to thrust slowly into his new toy's mouth. He pushed a little, careful to make sure he didn't make Spike gag too much. "DAMN that's good head."

Spike might as well have been stranded in the desert for days. Victor's cock was an oasis. He couldn't help himself, forcing his mouth deeper and deeper. He tasted Victor's precum. It was sweet. Strange. It made him go harder. His thought were completely consumed. All he could think about was sucking this man off.

Victor knew what was happening, but it was hard to convey it between the waves of pleasure. "Just a heads up....my precum...it will numb you a little."

Spike looked up with innocent eyes and forced himself to pull off, but only long enough to say, with absolutely authority and desperation, "Good. I want you to fuck my throat."

Victor was right. Whatever was happening here had supressed Spike's gag reflex utterly (not that he was new to deep throating; he'd been in the Navy after all). He inhaled Victor's cock into the back of his throat.

"SPIKE..." Victor tossed back his hair, lost in the sensation. "Agh. I should let you know....if I cum in your mouth...Remember, I am a half Incubus. It might..."

Trailing a rope of saliva and precum, Spike pulled back, if only to breathe. "I don't care," he said sternly. "If I die, I die." It was like a spellbreaking match. Spike had every intention of utterly destroying his opponent. Victor's seed would be his.

Victor tried to brush it off, but he could feel himself creeping closer to the edge. "Oh...you might die a little." He'd made a monster. He knew he should have turned down his powers. Still, he had a duty of care. He had to warn Spike.

But it was too late. "Are you sure...NO, I'M SO SORRY, I'm gonna CUM."

Something warm and sweet, but with the effects of a fine wine, poured into Spike's throat. He didn't stop. He would suck down every drop. He would drain Victor completely. Nothing else mattered.

Moaning and gasping, Victor finally had to pushed Spike's face away so he could catch a breath. He heaved, coated in sweat, his hair matted against his chest. "Damn..." he sighed. "Goddess damn. That was amazing, chico." He looked down at his younger friend, eyes glossed over in a trance-like state. "You okay, boy?" He ruffled his head, playing with his hair. "You drank it all down. That...will probably cause some effects."

Victor was right. Spike stared off into space. It was like he'd just taken a hit of a potent drug. He was nearly catatonic with bless. "I....I...."

Between his legs, Spike grew raw and erect. A string of precum leaked down from his throbbing cock, right onto Victor's floor. 

Victor arched an eyebrow. "Ah. Hehe. You are love drunk. We'll have to fix that." Victor leaned over and pushed Spike onto the bed, onto his back. "You remember how I said you'd shoot hard? Well, now you've had the full dose."

Spike's soul was somewhere else, but he was aware of all that was around him. Victor, quite possibly the most muscular and beautiful man Spike had ever laid eyes on, slowly crawled on top of him, making sure to distribute his weight as not to crush his partner. Spike was overwhelmed with sweat. Victor's hair hung down into his face, brushing his cheeks as he went in for a series of slow, tender kisses.

More. Spike thought. I want more.

Victor caressed the side of Spike's face. "I'm not gonna fuck you," he whispered. "Not yet. You still need to adjust to what I can do." He lowered his head and bit Spike's neck softly, whispering, "But I am gonna make you scream."

Whatever was happening, Spike wanted to stay inside this state of mind forever. "Can't....speak..."

Victor began to brush his massive girth against Spike's cock, frotting him real slow. "If you want to stop, you can squeeze my hand." His movements were liquid, strong, sensual. "I'm just gonna ride my cock against yours. Feels good, doesn't it?"

That was putting it mildly. "Ah...ah...."

Victor increased in his thrusts, grinding his hips against Spike, dominating his cock with his own. A steady stream of precum leaked from both of them, lubricating them up. Victor increased the speed and momentum.

Spike was already in the throes of pleasure. This was something else. Every nerve was at attention, sending signals to his brain. His prostate and nuts were swollen with pleasure from both sides. He would give everything to Victor.

The master of love magick looked down into his moaning, writhing partner's distant stare and knew he was close. He tried not to let his amusement show, or make Spike feel embarrassed. Instead, he grabbed one of the silk pillows and held it to his face.

"You're gonna need to bite down on this."

Spike had just enough sense left in him to heed the command. The wave of pleasure was overwhelming. Like before, it was painful, almost like being stabbed in the g-spot and the nuts. Spike felt the orgasm come on slow and drawn out, as if something was pushing every ounce of cum out of him at once.

Oh Goddess, I'm gonna fucking die. Spike buried his face into the pillow and screamed. This was too much, ion a good way. "MMMMMMFFFFFFFF!!!!!!"

Thankfully, Spike didn't have to see what mess he made. A fountain of seminal fluid and cum shot out all over him and Victor in a steady stream, leaking onto the bed. If it wasn't so hot, it would almost be grotesque. Victor, afraid he'd just killed his friend, stopped and looked down.

The orgasm to end all orgasms stopped. Spike was distant. Gone. Endorphins played across his neurons. He tried not to faint, merely trembling and shaking in the aftermath instead.

"Happy Birthday, mi amor. Hahaha. If you pass out, it's alright."

But the Sailorboy was no bitch. And even though he didn't have ad rop of cum left in him, he would live another day. "I..." he choked on his words, trying to look up into Victor's dark eyes. "I'm...still shaking."

"Yes, I can see that." The hunky luchador kissed him on the cheek and then went up to fetch a towel. "Are you alright, beautiful?"

Spike got a good view of Victor's rock hard, muscle ass. Shit, and that was just from a bit of grinding! I can't even imagine getting my face or cock in all of that. It really would kill me!

"That...was the best orgasm I've ever had." Spike sighed, smiling, feeling as if he was glowing like a god. "A double shot."

Victor laughed softly, and handed Spike both a towel and a glass of water. "I can do this..."

"No, no, no," Spike insisted. Sex decorum 101. "Just...ah man, give me a second I can't move."

Feeling mischievous, Victor leaned in. "Now imagine if I had fucked you."

"Let's...build up to that," Spike said, legitimately terrified of this spellbreaker's power. So, love really is the strongest magick!

Spike did eventually find the stamina to wipe himself down (and there was a lot to wipe off). "I can't believe I came that much," he said, red faced. "How is that humanly possible?"

Victor laid back, lounging in his nudity, a god in repose. "I am good at what I do." He motioned for Spike to come to him.

Spike bit his lip. The man's touch alone sent his senses on fire. Good thing he probably wouldn't be able to cum again for some time now. Spike fell down and back into Victor's arms. The man held him close, kissing the back of his neck. It was intimate. Sweet. Spike didn't want him to let go.

"Speaking of which," Victor said, nibbling Spike's ear. "I might need you to come over and service this cock again sometime. That mouth and throat of yours is something else." He paused. "Stay the night with me. Please."

"As if I wouldn't," Spike said, assumingly. He craned his head back and gave Victor another kiss. "Thank you. This was a great birthday."

"Happy to hear it," Victor said. "Dream well. You're in my arms tonight."

But sleep had already taken Spike, satisfied beyond measure, nestled up against the muscular man's chest. Pure bliss. Happy birthday indeed.