Destruction Wrestling Association

out-of-character. Here's my number one -- it's a bit graphic, but barely so, as I didn't divulge as much as others like to, but if any hint of sexuality makes you uneasy, turn away now. As a reminder, anything in first person is off-camera, unless specified otherwise and to recite an unwritten rule of roleplaying, don't mention anything off-camera, unless you're involved. Enjoy.

Sweat coats my forehead and a bead rolls down my nose, trickling off of the tip and onto her face -- she doesn't care, her eyes are closed tight and I can practically see her heart pound through her chest, her warm breath beating against my face.

"It's all a game."

Fuck off. I push forward a little harder and she breaths and little faster. Dirty blonde hair frizzed and stringed over her damp face, lipstick smeared and mouth agape. I touch her face and caress -- it was for her sake, I felt nothing for this girl. I came, I saw and I'm doing what I do naturally.

"It's all just a fucking game."

I said to fuck off. I don't want you here, I don't need you here. I need a distraction, and so far, the distraction that lies beneath beneath isn't enough. Her grey moans can't drown out his white chatter. I wish he'd leave me alone -- I wish you'd leave me alone.

"I'm getting impatient; finish up, here."

For all I knew, she was obliging me, her gasps as genuine as her body -- I felt every plastic curve, her spray on tan and facial foundation smudging and leaving my palm brown -- I didn't care about it: I didn't care about her. I jut needed a moment to get away... That moment was yet to come. I was dissatisfied and tired. Casual and unemotional, this felt like a waste of my time.

"Are you there, God?"

Blonde hair soaked with sweat against my pillow and masking her eyes from mine. I didn't want to look into her eyes, I didn't want to feel anything for her. Finally...

"... it's her."

My body tingled cool blue as I came to an end. I stopped, but her breaths kept massaging my face, stale with liquor and degradation. I pulled out and away, stepping off of my own bed to get away from her. She laughed and heaved; she saw Him.

"Now... The fun's over... fuck her off."

I looked over at her. She looked over at me -- Her blue eyes smiled, my brown eyes told her to fuck off and leave me be.

"How was it for you?" She asked me, brushing dirty blonde from her face.

"Not as good as it was for you." I didn't even know how she liked, it and I still meant that. I looked back at her... Her eyes stabbing me. Dixie laughed it off, for me.

"We've got work to do. Fuck. Her. Off."

I threw her bra at her, "Clean up." Her eyes burned me alive.

"Fuck you." She swung.

"So you tried." I hit.

It meant something to her, poor girl. She fought back tears with pursed lips and a funneled brow, but I could see her crying behind it all. I didn't mean to be this way, but it was what I was becoming. I even know who to blame. Flatline. I was becoming as cynical and as detached as him -- I felt sick. Then again, I was never one to pair -- I could never find my match. Go figure I got paired into reluctant waltz for Friday. Aska. Our dance seemed ceaseless, however, I would gladly pull his three-hundred-somewhat pound ass around the ballroom like a ballerina. I'm one to do my job.

That was my curse. People.

As I regretted an other day of my tired, young life, I could hear a ring in my ear. It wasn't exhaustion, it was my phone on the floor, trembling against the dusty hardwood-print linoleum. I picked it up examined, to the chagrin of Blonde, my eyes smiled at the name flashing LCD: "Monroe".

She grabbed her things -- half of a cocktail dress and torn, sweaty undergarments and slammed the door behind her without a word, not that I was aware enough to tell. My attention was upon the voice on the other line, warm and friendly. The only one I'd heard like that -- or wanted to hear, like that -- in a long time.

*******

The scene opens upon Keenan Saint, hair unkempt, eyes asleep and stature dismal. He, by no means, looks ready for his upcoming match, where he takes on a team which he knows absolutely nothing about, yet, he feels no detriment, as his primary focus is not his opponent, but his partner. Aska.

"Here you and I are again, you Norse son-of-a-bitch. It seems that you and I generate sparks every time we're in the ring together, regardless of whether we're on the same side or not. I was really surprised to see your name next to mine upon the card, but quite frankly, I should've seen it coming. Twice you and I have stood nose-to-nose -- figuratively speaking, of course -- and twice, we've made the earth shake. However... twice... I saw you at my feet, so when it comes to a point where I've got to rely on you -- and don't let that swell your ego, because you've got to rely on me as well -- when it comes to a point where I've got to rely on you, I can't help but worry that you'll drag me down like the three hundred-pound deadweight I think you are."

Keenan pauses for a moment to catch his breath, looking as if he's about to faint from exhaustion.

"Twice we fought. Twice I won. Twice, you disappointed me. Now, once I'm going to hold my tongue and hope to God that you meet me halfway on this, that you help me, so that I can help you, because I swear to God, if you fall behind, I'm going to drag you behind me like a body tied to the trailerhitch of a truck. This is more than a random pairing: if you and I succeed, we can be cemented together by gold. A man is not measured by what he holds, but by what he values. Gold plating means nothing to me; buckled, studded leather straps mean nothing to me, wins and losses mean nothing to me. It is the growth, the experience, the challenge, the fight. Those are what matter to me. If you and I are to become the tag team champions, then so be it. By loyalty I will stand by you, in the hopes that you will stand by me. However, if either you try to drop all of the weight onto me, or if you try to make this all about you, I will hit you like a jammed shotgun's blowback, right into your eyes."

An other pause, realising that he has more to focus on than Aska alone.

"Chicago's Finest... I don't know who you are, nor do I care. One more name, of one more gimmick, from one more city, in one more match, on one more card. That's all it ever is and ever will be in the business... with one exception. Aska and Me. Now I've barely said more than two words to this man, but that doesn't matter, because in a good partnership, it's not words one needs, it is chemistry, and he and I have shown the audience God, which defines chemistry and compatibility, however, as a partner, I don't know how he will fare. Yet, it matters not, because even with as little as I know about Aska, I know, that we are not a gimmick... we are a unit, bound by external circumstances with one common goal... victory... whether our definitions of victory are the same, or not."

Keenan inhales, looking to say something else... but he holds up his hand, halting, and curling back his ring and pinky fingers, aims at the camera with his index and middle fingers and pulls back, firing at those watching, before the scene fades to black.