Camera flashes reflected back by Iggy Astro's night-black sunglasses were bright, but his cutting grin shined brighter. The spellbreaker's affect and demeanor was cold and untouchable, like the distant reaches of space, whilst all around them Las Vegas' 'finest reporters' peppered them with incessant queries.
A swarm of microphones jutted out into their face, like the obscene protrusions of lesser men who thought they could score with the 'Human Supernova'.
"Iggy Astro, what do you think about the new dangers of atomic energy?"
"Iggy, what's your opinion of the Tsar taking advantage of the power vacuum left behind by the collapse of the Alban Empire?"
"Is it true you're dating fellow spellbreaker, El Amante? Do you fear a non-traditional relationship might upset the conservative market?"
"Iggy Astro, the public needs to know—boxers or briefs?"
Iggy's pink-painted lips turned upward in a half-snarl. He held up a black-manicured hand, commanding silence. "Thank you. Your questions bore me. Las Vegas' journalistic integrity is lacking." They scrunched up their nose. "And one of you smells like chicken soup."
The rockstar-turned-fighter really just wanted to turn around and retreat to their dressing room, their sanctum, and shut these idiots out. These weren't hard working truth tellers, but all corporate leeches, parroting irrelevant questions. Of course Iggy had honest answers for all of them, answers he chose to withheld. Atomic energy would ensure a more environmentally sustainable future. The Tsar was a fool clinging to a bygone power, like all tyrants before him (and any child of the Enchanted Revolution in Brazil keenly would agree). And if the concept of two male assigned people in love turned the stomachs of the spellbreaking fandom, then maybe they didn't deserve this sport to begin with!
But to throw these hounds a bone wouldn't be keeping with Iggy's character, and wasn't life (and spellbreaking) all about performance?
A clean-shaven pencil necked reporter somehow shoved their way to the front of the line. Iggy, in a purple leather jacket with studded shoulder pads, sighed and motioned for them to speak.
"Iggy Astro," the little geek said, "there's been talk that a representative from the Institute of Glyphic Studies will be in the audience tonight. Many would say you're one of the most powerful light magi around..."
"Damn right about that," Iggy spat. Hmm. Suarez is here, eh? Heh. Looks like I will put on a show after all. The elusive researcher in question was a friend to spellbreakers, as well as one of the few souls outside the sport that Iggy genuinely respected.
"Would you say there's any merit in spellbreaking when it comes to glyphic research?" the nerd followed up.
Iggy flicked the stupid query away as if it were a bothersome fly. "Without a doubt. We elevate the power. We're not just athletes and performers, but expert weilders of magick as well. Got it?
"Just one more question, then, if you would! A lot of people are saying Sailorboy Spike is the next biggest thing in spellbreaking. How do you feel about your fight against him tonight?"
!!!
Iggy smirked. With an elegant wave of their hand, they conjured a neon blue stick figure resembling a little sailor man—if one squinted hard enough that is. Iggy, sticking his (very longue) tongue out, grabbed the figure by its neck and bit its head off in one swift motion! A geyser of neon red blood spray covered the shocked and disgusted reporters, who promptly backed off.
But, just to drive the message home, Iggy grabbed the little twerp 'journalist' by the neck and raised him several feet off the ground. Admittedly, the spellbreaker enjoyed watching the idiot's feet flailing and kicking, as if he thought he could escape!
"THAT'S what I think of this little sailor boy," Iggy growled in the struggling man's face. "Thousands of years ago, a meteor ended almost all life on this planet. And TONIGHT, THIS star is going to make the Sailorboy EXTINCT."
He dropped the red faced, choking man before he could do any personal damage. That was enough to force the reporters retreat. Iggy, legitimately annoyed, recomposed themselves with a glitter-producing hairflip.
Turning to enter their dressing room, Iggy cleared their throat and looked coquettishly over his shoulder. "Oh, and and to answer your question...thongs, darling. Thongs. Who do you even think I am?
With that, Iggy shut the door on all the useless noise behind them.
"A meteor ended the life of the dinosaurs?" Iggy said to their own reflection, incredulously, as they applied a generous helping of eyeline. "Me Deusa, that was a bad line..."
In his pink, velvety dressing room, Iggy Astro sighed, staring at the hunk in the reflection, stroking the mirror like Narcissus beginning to question his self worth. "My sweet, beautiful self, where has all the passion gone? The lyricism? What is the point of all this folly!" He tossed his makeup down in a rut, and buried his face in his arms, exhaling deeply (and dramatically) into the linoleum countertop.
For three years, Iggy Astro's spellbreaking rise had been...well...meteoric. Now, however, Iggy was beginning to feel like a star burning out. It had been ages since he'd faced a worthy opponent, let alone an interesting one. These days, he felt like a trained fight-dog, being thrown meat and scraps by Colt the 'Bolt'.
But where was the art? Where was the collaboration? The passion? All these silly little boys and girls Iggy had fought recently had their heads up their own asses, just trying to get ahead in their career. They were beige. He was pink. At this point, he would gladly settle for a chartreuse, or electric orchid, or even a navy blue!
Perhaps I was naive thinking this would be any different than the music industry, Iggy lamented as they absently turned the neck of the champagne bottle sticking out of the ice bucket. The only thing this career had given them recently—though granted it was a pretty nice prize—was a longtime partner. But El Amante was perpetually busy, and a lover of many. Their relationship was infinitely complex, and Iggy was not defined by it.
There was, of course, the option of going back to Brazil and getting Vanity Paradise back together, but that would mean upending life all over again. And that sounded rather exhausting.
"I just feel like I'm not doing anything meaningful with my life!" Iggy groaned operatically, arguing with an invisible audience. "Sure, I could probably become champion. But what's the point? I'm not doing anything to advance this sport, or my own art. Hmmm..." they looked at themselves. "Perhaps I need a protégé? Hmmm. HMMM...."
Though Iggy would never vocalize it, he was dreading tonight's match. More of the same song and dance. Go out there, be a delicious snack for the audience, break some underwear model's arms and make them cry, be a dick. Sure, there was always room to interject a little bit of melody into the affair, but Colt—bless his extraordinary, cowboy bulge—had asked Iggy to 'turn down' the rock and roll aspect of his performance.
It's a fight, Astro, not a damn rock concert!
Iggy grit his teeth together and squeezed his fist down on his lipstick tube. That bossy cowboy. Turn it down? Nobody tells me to turn it down! If anything, Iggy Astro only turns it UP. TO ELEVEN! Gahhhh, if he wasn't such a juicy piece of Texas BBQ, I'd....I'd...
He sighed. He couldn't even complete an internal monologue! Perhaps he'd take his frustrations out on that prettyboy pinup tonight. A good punching bag always hit the spot, no? Still, there was something about that stupid little sailor twink that Iggy couldn't put their deliciously manicured finger on...
Annoyed with their 'spellbreaker's block', Iggy clapped their hands. "Inspiration! Now!" They turned to their record player on the table. Iggy's runner always specified 2 - 3 of the same records in every dressing room. Though their musical appetites were voracious, Iggy was still a creature of habit, and he always had the old favorties close at hand. Iggy pulled the record out of its sleeve and placed it on the player. He dropped the needle.
The velvety, slightly distant, ethereal voice of Astrud Gilberto crooned out of the machine. "Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars..."
A sea of tranquility washed over Iggy. He leaned back and let the sound of guitars carry him away on its moonlit waves. Old faces, old places, returned to the forefront of his memories. His father, slicing up oranges on a hot, summer day. Mother, in the study, grading papers and complaining about her students or the government. The radio on in the background. A samba on the sea breeze. Yet, beneath the music, a frequency only his parents could hear—their ears ever listening for a breaking news update portending to disaster. Another revolt. Another coup. More fire. It was, after all, from the literal fires of revolution that Iggy—once Inácio, now Ináci—was born.
A knock at the door threw Iggy out of their daydream. "Who dares?" they shouted dramatically, glaring at the door. "Hmph."
The friendly face of a balding, stocky security gaurd smiled back at them. "Sorry, just saw this was open and wanted to make sure it was closed." The dark skinned man smiled graciously at them.
Weird. I thought I shut that. "I see," Iggy sniffed.
"Say, is that the Astrud Gilberto cover?"
Iggy raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"
The guard seemed like the dowdy family man sort, the kind that Iggy absolutely loathed. But there was a youthfulness and light in his eyes. "I thought it might be," he said. "I love that one. I know people hold Sinatra sacred, but I think I prefer her take on it better."
Iggy shook his head in disbelief. They scanned the gaurd's aura, finding a cool electricity there among the gentle colors. He was good.
"Well...finally, someone with good taste." Iggy turned his body, willing to engage. "It's my mother's favorite."
"My wife's," the man said, chuckling. He nodded affably, but minded not to cross into the room. "I'm Grant Partridge. Head of security. Let me know if you need anything."
Iggy cocked their head to the side. It was always the most unlikely souls that he enjoyed most. "Will do," he said sincerely. And though it was not exactly becoming of a badguy spellbreaker... "Thank you for looking out for us, Mr. Partridge. You do good work."
"Just doing my job," the humble man said. "Have a good match, cousin." He closed the door behind him.
Iggy stared at the shut door for a few seconds, certain he'd closed it behind him to rid themselves of those annoying reporters. He shrugged and turned around. The song ended. The vibe was off. Iggy, lusting for inspiration, sighed anew. Speaking of auras, one of Iggy's seldom used talents, that Spike characters was all over the place. When Iggy had observed them outside the Dionysus Lounge, playing boyscout to a dancer who clearly didn't need a muscle twink to defend her honor, Iggy had taken the opportunity to scan their spiritual luminosity. Spike's soul was a sea of constantly undulating greens and blues, someone who was not yet set in their ways, who did not yet know themselves. There were flecks of orange there too, like the embers of a new fire. A surprisingly strong light for someone who didn't seem as if there was a lot going on up top. They were like a parcel wrapped in delicious mystery.
And Iggy would enjoy peeling it back, tonight. They licked their lips. "Sex and fighting. Two great ways to get to know a man. I will smash that little beefcake open and see how they tick." Turned on by the sight of himself acting cocky, Iggy flexed his chest muscles for himself in the mirror. "I wonder if there will be anything left of them to put back together! Hahahahaha! Oh, we have fun, don't we, Iggy..."
His eyes suddenly fell on a newspaper—opened onto the daily horoscope page. He had been lazily reading it earlier, hoping for some good cosmic vibes under the sign of the ever-shifting scales.
Ah, the zodiac. The most noble of all the constellations. I daresay it is foolish to think that the stars might hold our destiny, and yet, one cannot help but...
Suddenly, the closed-fist of the muse struck him up the side of the head. They had been knocked dizzy with inspiration!
Iggy grabbed the newspaper, scanned it for meaning, and placed it down. A wicked grin crossed their lips, as they turned dramatically to face their own reflection.
"Oh, but what dark portents do the stars have for you, my delicious Sailorboy." They laughed evilly. "Your destiny is not written in the skies, Spike, but in the blood I will draw from your gaping wounds! Hehehehe. Oh, I'm such a bitch..."
"You want rock, Astro? Then let's roll!"
Spike had a lot to love when it came to Las Vegas spectacle, but the colored pyrotechnics were probably his favorite part of the performances. As he stepped out into the entrance archway, clad in white—tight—sailor's pants, a giant anchor on his shoulder, Spike saluted the audience amid spark showers of red, white, and blue.
You've come along way, sailor, Spike thought, grinning stupidly to himself. Oh, how nice it was to be admired! To have a fandom. The night air was electric. And even though he was nervous as shit, the Pinup Prince didn't dare show it to the crowd.
"That's right folks," Hawaiian-shirted Boomer Harlow boomed over the microphone. "It's the tiny titan himself! The Sailor stud from Brooklyn New York, with a heart-breaking smile and back breaking arms! The Pinup Prince himself—Sailorboy Spike Waterford!"
"It's good to be the prince," Spike exclaimed confidently, flexing with his one arm, bouncing the anchor with the other, all for the delight of the crowd. He pointed to a group of handsome greasers and varsity-jacket sporting, boy-next-door types in the crowd. The prettiest of them held up a sign saying. "Sailorboy—American Hero, American Heartthrob!"
What, I have fans now? Spike pointed at this admirers and gave them a flirty wink. Shit, they're cute. I hope they're backstage when I'm done! If I get out of this one alive, that is...
Colt had encouraged all his Bronze and Silver Stars to put on more of a show than usual—again, by virtue of being in Vegas, the land of flash and bang. Spike was happy to oblige his beloved boss. He'd been riddled with nerves for his first few shows, but he'd gotten used to confident entrances by now. Spike was happy to lay it on thick for the audience, slamming his anchor into the ground, using the momentum to flip himself up and over the ring.
He landed on his feet like a cool cat, winning him cheers and applause. But it was when he leaned over and yanked off his sailor pants—giving the audience a good, long look at his best asset, barely constrained by his trunks—that the big pop happened.
El Amante was right, these stripper pants were a good idea! Preening, grinning, and flexing for the crowd, Spike was glad he'd won over a few hearts since his rocky debut. He might not sound or act like the paragon of masculinity (whatever that was) but his body and attitude said otherwise, and now everyone in spellbreaking knew it!
I feel pretty! And better than pretty, I feel strong too! RAWR!
As Spike hopped the ropes, doing his signature, single bicep, he scanned the VIP box. It was easy to spot Colt anywhere. All you had to do was find the biggest, broad shouldered man in the most ridiculous, 'rhinestone cowboy' dress-up. But that's not what made Spike do a double-take. It was the attractive woman on Colt's right, who Spike did not recognize, coupled the woman in the fur coat on Colt's left—Marcy Diamond, the dancer from the Dionysus Lounge!
Spike tried very hard not to break. Bossman, you dirty doggy! Though Spike was one to talk! He was just as bad, but for the same sex. Besides, Colt was a single man, so there was nothing wrong with it. But TWO pretty women!?
Buck is gonna hang 'em high when he finds out about this, Spike thought as he hopped of the top rope. Colt's son, tragically left behind to manage the GSA on his lonesome, was protective of his dad...and likewise, highly disciplinary.
But Spike had bigger issues to worry about at the moment. The buff, blonde fighter turned his attention towards the entrance arch. It was time to go up against the toughest foe he'd faced THUS FAR—The God/Goddess of Rock and Roll!
Spike should have been aiming his eyes a bit higher. As the lights in the arena dimmed, and Iggy's heavy metal anthem (written, produced, and sung by himself) came blasting on, a spotlight travelled up the length of the archway. The fountains of neon sparks in green, pink, and yellow served only to draw the crowd's attention to the top of the arch.
Spike's jaw dropped. "You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!"
Iggy Astro stood with their back turned—clad in a pink, leopard print robe and feathery, fuchsia boa (with silver stars woven in, of course)
"Show off..." Spike folded his arms across his giant chest, and frowned.
Iggy turned to their adoring audience, screaming and losing their minds like they were at one of his rock concerts. Tongue sticking out, he shot up the devil horns and dropped cloak and boa, revealing his enviable, toned, muscular body. Glitter and oil covered his torso. He looked like a devilish David, sculpted not out of marble, but bronze and starlight.
Tired of basking in glory, Iggy threw out their hands to their side.
Spike's eyebrows rose. He placed his fingers to his mouth, in shock! "Is...he gonna jump from there?"
Indeed, fiery the angel fell, stage diving into darkness.
The crowd gasped in horror. Spike's eyes nearly fell out their sockets. Even Colt spat out his beer!
It all happened over the course of seconds, but to the whole of the audience, it felt like a lifetime. A subtle aura surrounded Iggy as they fell. The light grew in intensity, until everyone realized just what it was they were seeing. Iggy Astro had turned themselves into a human comet, colorful tail and all!
His trajectory changed. Instead of hitting the concrete floor with a grotesque splat, Iggy Astro zoomed over the heads of the audience, body straight as a pencil, like a diver in motion, until he quite literally crashed into the center of the ring in an explosion of psychedelic sparks! The flash was so bright and intense that Spike had to shield his eyes. He was nearly knocked off his feet.
A tall, exquisitely shaped silhouette stood among the shifting light, as the pink dust washed over the arena. "Is my light too great for you, Sailorboy? Can't even look upon my stellar form, can you?"
Spike clenched his teeth, rotating his arm and flexing his chest muscles, ready for the scrap! "I'll snatch that silver star of yours from the sky, Astro! There's no doubting that you're cool as they come, but that doesn't mean you're invincible."
A pink and green mist blanketed the arena, clouding the scaffolding above. Spike was too focused on his opponent that he failed to notice that the auditorium was becoming eclipsed...
Iggy Astro, wearing an iridescent, rhinestone-studded thong (Brazilian cut, the barest form of modesty) turned at last to face their opponent. Their face was painted with a blue lightning bolt, and their eyes shadowed with glitter, like diamond dust. Silver stars lined their teased out, lion's mane of hair. They really did resemble and an androgynous deity from beyond the galactic rift. Perfection in human form.
"You think I look cool?" Iggy Astro sneered, licking their teeth with their snake-like tongue. "Well, maybe I won't kill you after all, Sailor stooge. Just leave you permanently star-struck!"
The tension between Spike and Iggy was so great that they barely noticed the ref, a beautiful woman in her own right (former Las Vegas showgirl) try to force herself between them to explain the rules.
"If I may," she said, staring both of them down, "the rules for this match will be modified per the challenger." She pointed to Iggy.
Spike whipped his head back and forth between both of them. "What? I thought this was gonna be a one-fall scheduled kinda' deal?"
Iggy crossed their arms and raised their head. "Hmph! And how boring would that be? Dream a little bigger, darling!" They pushed off the ground and landed on the top rope, thumbing their nose at gravity. "Up here, padrãozinho"
They're...so well balanced and athletic! But Spike wouldn't let his intimidation show. He'd been training hard for this fight. Iggy was all about quick strikes and taking his opponent to the ground for a submission. Capoeira, Brazilian jiujitsu, pro wrestling, lambada (the forbidden dance), Iggy knew it all. If Spike could keep to his footwork, dodge when needed, and wait for an opening, he might just stand a chance...
Iggy held his hands upward to the darkening sky, like a preacher summoning the light of Goddess from heaven. Suddenly, a thousand pinpricks of starlight appeared out of the darkness, a hyperreal replica of the night sky. The audience let out an impressed, "Oooh! Ahhh!"
"Behold, my little starlings," Iggy said, gesturing to the slowly shifting cosmos up above. "I have turned this arena into my personal planetarium!"
Spike frowned. He scratched his head. "Uh, what's a planetarium?"
"Huh?" Iggy looked down, blank faced. "You...can't possibly be serious?"
"Is it like an aquarium for planets?" Spike said with a shrug.
The audience laughed. Only Iggy Astro saw the barely perceptible wink from Spike.
And only Spike saw the sudden glint and even more subtle smile appear across Iggy's lips. "Good grief," the rock and roll star cackled. "I guess I can't possibly do any more brain damage to this one..."
"The Goddess made me pretty," Spike shot back. "She didn't make me smart! But who needs smarts when you got muscles like these, right, folks!?"
The audience roared and laughed at that one. Just as Spike intended.
Iggy frowned. "I EAT boys next door like you for breakfast! Anways, BEHOLD, the radiant mystery of the zodiac!"
Lines of light connected the star clusters, turning them into living, animated constellations. The light constructs, in motion, circled the auditorium, drawing in wonder and aww. Even Spike was taken in! Iggy Astro wasn't just a damn good spellbreaker—and questionable musician, in Spike's opinion—they were an expert at magick too.
The constellations peeled themselves off the wall, coalescing into twelve spheres of crystalline light, each one a different color. Iggy's magick burnt a symbol, or sign, etched into each of them, not unlike the symbols of the glyphs. These spheres wove in the air around the ring, in and out of reach of the spellbreakers, all in constant shifting orbits.
Iggy jumped down from the ropes and pointed daringly at Spike. "This is my zodiac attack! The rules are simple, kitten. For this match, only normal strikes and basic holds are permitted—unless you snag one of these twelve, tasty zodiac spheres you see hovering around us. Each one corresponds to a wrestling move, and either of us may 'activate' it. If you haven't submitted or been knocked out, the winner who nabs the most zodiac spheres will get to perform their finishing move! HAHAH! A TOTAL KNOCKOUT!"
Spike's shoulders dropped. This was needless complicated and annoying. Besides, it didn't make sense. "But how do I expect you to just not do whatever the hell move you want? Or expect the same from me?"
Iggy sneered, devilishly. "Oh, I've already taken care of that." He smirked. "Tell me, basic one, what's that little finisher of yours called?"
"Anchors Away!" Spike struck a proud, heroic pose, hands on him and chest puffed outward. "Of course I know how to perform it. I could perform it in my sleep, ya putz! It's a..." Spike suddenly drew a blank. It was like someone had snatched the memory right out of his mind! "Huh, wait? How is that possible!?"
"You're already under my spell, bicha," Iggy said, cruelly. "I've enchanted us BOTH with my aurora mist. While both of our glyphs will function the same, all the moves we could potentially perform are locked to the stars! You'll have to touch one of those beauties to get them back..."
Spike looked around as a deep blue, star-dappled sphere with an arrow symbol sailed by his head. "And how the hell can I trust you?"
Iggy grinned, faking shyness. "Heel's honor," he said, giving Spike a luminous, blown kiss. "I wanted it to make it fun for you, kitten. Because I'm such a nice guy, right?"
"You gotta whacky view of what's 'fun' and 'nice', Astro," Spike said, taking a grappling stance. "But I accept! Ring the bell, losahs', because it's time this Iggy Astro's star burnt out!"
Iggy looked at Spike darkly, with a Cheshire cat smile. "Now that's the starfire I've been waiting to see from you. You better not bore me now, SAILORBOY!"
Spike and Iggy charged foreword like two young bulls ready to battle for territory. The clash was electric. Iggy's ambient magick was tailored to showtime. Every blow or clash resulted in 'particle effects' of star dust and light, and the lock up between Spike and Iggy was no different.
Iggy, being more talented, broke it first with a knee to Spike's chest. The sailor boy fell back into the ropes, but he was just getting started!
He wiped the spittle from his lips. "Cute," he spat. "What else ya got, studly?"
"Kiss your master's foot!" Iggy snarled, turning around in a capoeria style twist, launching an appropriately named half-moon kick right for Spike's face!
The sailor took the one second necessary to prepare himself and caught Iggy's foot mi dair. The audience gasped.
In the VIP box, Colt leaned forward, eyes swelling with teary pride. "That's my boy," he said to the women on either side.
"No surprise there," smokey-eyed Marcy said, sipping from a martini glass. "Little runt came in swinging trying to defend my honor the other night." She shrugged. "Not that I needed defending, of course."
The young woman with the sunflower pendant put her fingers together in a contemplative pyramid. "Dynamis is an intriguing glyph. Some users draw from their own emotional energy. Others tap into the spiritual side. This Spike Waterford has a fire in his eyes, of that there is no doubt. He must certainly channel his drive from within."
Colt nodded. "That's the one I wanted you to watch, friend."
"This one is close to Buck too, yes?" The woman smiled warmly. "I can see that they must get along."
"They seem thick as thieves these days! And yes, sparky Spike has potential. He just doesn't see it. Too much up inside his head or up his own ass, I reckon."
Marcy raised a glass to the fighters. "And it is quite the ass, Colt. If he quits on you, he can always come dance for me."
The young woman in the lace bodysuit side-eyed her companion and informant. "From where...did you get that martini?"
"Smuggled it in with my purse." She took a sip. "You want one?"
Back in the ring, Iggy tore himself away from Spike. Spike was strong, already empowered by the blow to his chest, but Iggy Astro's strength was innate—especially in the leg department. He fell back on to his other foot, pirouetted in a tornado of glittery stardust, and struck Spike right in the jaw. The sailorboy reeled.
This was all to set him up for the next attack! Iggy looked over his shoulder, at a ruby red sphere of light with an emblem not unlike a capital 'V'. "Aries," Iggy said triumphantly, striking the sphere with his fist. It splintered into fractals of light and sunk into his flesh, imbuing him with a crimson aura.
"Sign of the ram! Symbol of the Warrior!" Red beams of light enveloped Iggy, turning him into a three-dimensional wireframe of the ram constellation in question. He charged foreward in radiant flames, his head aimed straight for the dazed Spike's chest. "Your ribs are about to become stardust, Spike!"
Spike recovered just in time, shaking the pain away. But there was nowhere to run! He caught the ram by the horns, clutching down on Iggy's temples, softening the blow. He took the opportunity to slam Iggy's head down and grab onto his legs, toppling him over. The constellation figure that surrounded Iggy, like armor, abruptly shattered into red sparks.
Spike had Iggy on the ground now, a precious opening! Only...he was drawing a blank on what do next! All of his moves were lost to the mist of the galactic void inside his mind!
A royal blue sphere zipped past Spike's eyes. He fumbled on the first go...
"Noooo wait comebackcomebackcomeback!"
...but his finger tips just managed to graze its crystalline core.
That, apparently, was enough. The symbol of the arrow burst into fragments, shards of light absorbed by Spike's muscular body. At first, Spike drew back out of instinct, unaware of the magick worked. But the cool blue fire took him over, inspire him.
"Hey, that one's mine!" Colt said proudly from the stands, pointing to himself. "Sagittarius! Hmm but there's no wrasslin' move called a centaur, is there? Unless I invented it and forgot about it..."
Inspiration struck Spike like an arrow to the head. "The archer," he said, a mischievous glint coming to him. "And what do archers use, Iggy?" Spike used his legs as fulcrums and pitched Iggy beneath him, grabbing his neck with one arm and his boots with the other, driving his knees into his back and raising him higher. "A bow and arrow!"
"You sneaky little kitten," Iggy said through clenched teeth. "But you think this will be enough to force me, the great Iggy Astro, to tap!?"
The eagle-eyed ref came over. She didn't even both asking Iggy if he wanted to give. Spike could tell from his breathing and muscle control that he was experienced in enduring holds.
Spike pouted, trying to put on the pressure, but the ref called the time and he was forced to break the hold. Back to the drawing board...
Iggy sprung up, wasting no time wining back control. With another graceful spin, he kicked an emerald green sphere bearing the Roman numeral for '2'. The move's execution alone was enough to win him a cheer from the audience, but the green aura surrounding him was the real victory.
Now, suddenly, there were two Iggy's! The delicious and dangerous Statue of David in the flesh, and another one made of starry, green light. Spike's head spun, out of confusion.
"They...they pulled a Cian!"
Iggy made eyes at his other self. "Oh, hello, I like this Gemini very, very, very, very much. But, enough flirting!"
Iggy sprung into action, with his double handspringing right over Spike's head and the other positioned in front of him, just so. They were preparing a combo move!
"Don't panic," Spike said to himself, attention diverted between the two Iggy's. "You got this, sailor!"
"Double, roundhouse kick!" Iggy called out. With a canon-ball kick from either side, Spike's head would surely crack like an egg.
Spike remembered back to his training and dropped, one hand to canvas, one foot shot backwards. A graceful dodge. All the worse for Iggy, with momentum against him. Their legs collided painfully with their double, shattering their other self and putting them on the backfoot.
Spike was ready! They ran to the rope, grabbing for the nearest sphere they could find. "Crap, I knew I should have been listening to Rosa's hippie nonsense when she told me about star signs!" Spike's left hand went for a cool, gray sphere that reminded Spike of a winter sky. However, his last minute impulses took over and his other hand shot out for an amber brown sphere with a horn-like symbol.
"Can he do that?" Colt spat out.
"Can he do that?" Boomer Harlow parroted into the mic.
Spike turned around, before Iggy could get to his feet. He 'activated' the gray fire surrounding his right hand. An image came to him, of a goat ramming an opponent. He did the same to Iggy, delivering a Capricorn spear straight to his gut!
"Bicha!" Iggy coughed, sailing into the corner post. "How...capricious of you!"
"I'm on a fuckin' roll," Spike said, grinning ear to ear. "He shook out his left hand, activating his other zodiac attack. "Oh, I like this one! Mmm. Bull boys..."
Arms splayed out across the ropes, Iggy tried to move, but the nasty little kitten had claws and had struck him right in the gut! "Of course...the little slut would choose all the horny ones!"
"Get ready for a nasty ride!" Spike said, charging forward. The constellation of a rampaging bull surrounded him. "This is more what I do to big, sexy bulls! I bronco....BUST THEM!"
All 200+ pounds of pocket titan, fuelled by Taurine strength, crashed down on Iggy's collar bone, with Spike's crotch slamming into his face (humiliating cherry-on-top). Spike capped the moment by sticking out his tongue—just like his opponent was wont to do. He flexed a bicep for the audience. In the back of his head, though, he feared he was expending too much energy too quickly. He needed to end this match as soon as possible.
Spike clawed down on Iggy's forehead, going for his hair. It was definitely a heel tactic, but fight fire with fire, right? He'd yank the pink-haired cutie up and pummel on them til he could get the next—and hopefully last—zodiac sphere. He'd rock this rockstar yet!
Iggy's talon clamped down on Spike's hand, driving his black nails deep into his wrist. The other one followed suit.
"YAAAAGH!" Spike cried out.
Through grinning, gritted teeth, Iggy snarled at Spike. "You thought you could just touch my hair and LIVE?" He cackled, maniacally, using Spike's poor hand as a boost back onto his feet. "You thought you could shove your cute—surprisingly thick—bulge into my face? YOU HAVEN'T SEEN HALF OF WHAT I'M CAPABLE OF YET, YOU STUPID LITTLE TWINK."
Spike had been confident up until this point, and for a good solid minute, he suspected Iggy was all bark and no bite. No so anymore. The light-wielding spellbreaker's eyes glowed neon pink with rage! With one claw on Spike's wrists, bleeding red, Iggy moved the other to his throat, holding it there.
The rockstar could already tell the ref was seconds from intervening. "I snagged a little treat on the way down," Iggy said, holding up his glowing, turquoise tinted, right hand. "Let's see if dreamy little Pisces will send you to dreamland! Oh, what's this? A FISHERMAN'S SUPLEX!"
Wreathed in glowing blue, flames in the shape of two sleek fish circled Iggy as he caught Spike's back, hooked his knee, and tossed him over his head like a bag of garbage, slamming the twunk into the back of the mat. His vision went black, for a moment before he began falling backwards. It was only for his magick activating that his neck snap off or shatter. Sure felt like it had, anyway...
Spike managed to kick away before Iggy could hold him there for a pin, but Iggy was already loading up his next move! He turned and grabbed onto the ropes for leverage, bucking backwards. A master of kicks and leg-based moves, the Brazilian bombshell's aim was true. "Fish-tail kick!"
Spike's jaw and torso were both rocked senseless, knocking him back down to the mat, completely stunned. Iggy had no trouble plucking another sphere clean out of the air. And then, another!
"Too bad you missed all those nasty little submission moves locked to the constellations," Iggy said, drawing closer. He kicked Spike in the side, turning him over, and winning him a nasty glare from the red. "Ah, what do we have here? Cancer. And what type of animal is Cancer, Spike?"
The sailor, trying to push himself off the canvas, suddenly put two and two together. "N-n-no!"
"That's right!" Iggy shouted, villainously. He grabbed both of Spike's boots, tucking each one in a vice beneath his armpits, cranking Spike's feet to the side to bring on the pain before the real torment began!
Iggy began to slowly, methodically, and painfully lean back, with Spike's legs curving behind his lower back. "A good ol' Boston Crab!"
Spike couldn't hold back the scream that erupted from his throat. Felt like his spine would snap any second! And Iggy was brutal. He knew to bring on the pain slow and then drive it in like a knife, all while 'head banging' and tossing his hair like a real rock star!
The ref was at Spoke's side at once. "You give, waterford!?"
"I hope not!" Iggy yelled, joyfully. "Oh, your cries of pain turn me on! Serves you right for DARING to pull a GOD's glorious mane! Now, you'll wish I had knocked you out!"
This really sucks, Spike thought, clenching his teeth so hard against the sensation his lower spine might separate from the rest of him. Even worse, I'm a little turned on too! But he breathed. He had come this far. He was on the verge of winning that coveted Silver Star, and nobody—not Iggy Astro, Cian Enbarr, or Vahni Rage—was going to stop him now!
So, Spike did what he did best. Converted the pain into pleasure, building up the energy.
"You like stretching me out, Astro," Spike said, trying (and failing) to put on a sexy voice. "Bet you wish you were stretching something else out!"
Even Iggy couldn't help his cheeks from reddening. He broke the lock. "Why you! Well, if you're gonna be sexual, let's sick the most seductive zodiac sign on you, eh?"
Iggy's next gambit was a deadly, Scorpion leglock, favored by their comrade in spellbreaking, El Amante Intóxico. The wireframe image of a violet Scorpion surrounded Iggy and Spike, with Spike's poor, bent legs making the scorpion tail.
"This one means a lot to me," Iggy said, savoring how Spike squirmed underfoot. "It's my hunky boyfriend's favorite move!"
"Were you...hoarding those sphere?" Spike said through his teeth. Sweat soaked out of every pore. At least I know I look good suffering. Hope the audience watching at home is enjoying themselves.
Iggy's answer was to look down at Spike and lick his lips perversely. "What, did you expect me to do, play nicely?" He released the hold and slammed his boot into Spike's side. "Idiot. I'm going to make you kiss these boots to get out of the pain I have in store for you!"
Fortunately, Spike had a plan. It was a painful plan, but a plan that had a 50/50 chance of working....if he didn't tap, pass out, or start crying first. That said, there was part of Spike that wasn't necessarily opposed to being dominated by a sexy, pink-haired, Enby stud like Iggy.
Shivering in anguish—and some pleasure as well—Spike swivelled his neck and locked eyes with their opponent. "I think you can do better than that." Spike shook his butt in their direction. "Harder. I need to be punished."
Iggy blinked, turning around to hear the audience laugh at Spike's schoolboy antics. "Grrr. You challenge a Brazilian with your ass? FOOL!" Iggy sunk down behind Spike and forced him on to all fours. "I HAVE THE BEST BUTT IN SPELLBREAKING!"
"You gonna mount me?" Spike said, trying not to wince from their lower back agony.
"Hehe. You need a lesson in sexual restraint, kitten!" Iggy flipped his hair back, scattering silver stars to the winds. "Perhaps the sign of the Maiden is the right medicine for you. An Iron Maiden!"
A celestial flower sprouted from the center of Iggy's palm, sending out shoots and tendrils down across their sinewy forearm. Iggy jumped onto Spike's back, knocking the air out of them again. Half of the vines pulled Spike's right arm back, painfully, against its joints, threatening to snap them off. Iggy's hand went across Spike's face, at an angle, yanking it backwards.
Ugh, their puns are gonna make me tap first. "I...don't get it," Spike gurgled. He desperately tried ignoring that it felt like his own neck might snap off like the head of a daisy, any moment. "You're just making shit up now, Iggy! Fisherman's Suplex? Iron Maiden? Please."
"WHAT!" Iggy yanked back tighter, glaring daggers of light at the ref as she counted the submission out. "No, it's totally real! That hot, scruffy Scottish guy with the long hair uses it all the time! Now, PREPARE TO MEET YOUR DOOM."
Ugh, this hunk is like a villain from one of Kengo's manga. "They should start calling you Iggy ASSHOLE!"
"Ha! Well, you know what they say..." Forced by the ref to break the hold, Iggy SLAMMED Spike's face into the mat as vengeance. "YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT!"
"Excuse m—"
Iggy kicked Spike's already bruised and bleeding face to the side. Even the audience felt that one. They certainly heard the cracking sound.
Fuck my life, Spike thought to himself, moaning in agony. He heard his own cartilage resetting inside his nose. He pulled black blood from his fingers, but still, he smiled through the pain. "Heh. You make me look like a damn badass, Iggy. Thanks for that." How many zodiacs is that now? Shit, I'm losing count!
Iggy stood back. They were holding it in, but Spike—in a rare moment of keen observation—could see they were losing stamina trying to make Spike tap. "That shade of red looks really good on you!" Iggy said, tongue lolling out like a rabid dog. "It REALLY IS YOUR COLOR!"
Iggy went for a jaw breaking kick to finish Spike off. His leg cut through the air like a shooting star, trailing behind colorful vapor. Bloody and bruised Spike caught it again.
"An old trick, doggy!" Iggy spat. Their tone changed, however, when they tried to pull their leg back again.
They could not.
"Yeah," Spike said, as the blood receded and faded from his handsome, sweat-stained face. His hair matted against his forehead, nose still slightly crooked, Spike had turned from prettyboy pinup to prize fighter in seconds. "But now I'm PUMPED up!"
The colorful lights zooming around Iggy had blinded him to the cool, blue and orange aura radiating off his opponent. Spike stood taller, stronger, his muscles expanding in real life. From twunk to hunk!
"Pumped!" Spike said, flexing. He gave Iggy an air kiss. "Ain't I sexy centerfold, baby?"
And wouldn't you know it folks, it worked! Iggy turned a different color. "Ohhhh, the muscles..." they said, before realizing they were feeding into their opponent's ego. They shook their hair wildly. "NO! This isn't over," they screeched. "Look at the numbers. I've got more zodiac elements under my belt than you do, biscoiteiro!'
As they said this, a golden sphere of sunlight crossed the space between them. It was the fastest of the orbiting zodiac clusters so far, zipping around both of them temptingly. Iggy and Spike both locked eyes.
And then, they went for it.
Iggy elbowed spike in the neck, sending him sideways. Spike, quick on the rebound, tried to take them down from the side. They fell back together to the mat, while the poor ref tried her best to keep up with the action. On the canvas now, both Iggy and Spike tugged and struggled with each other, dragging themselves on elbows and arms to the flirtatious little sphere resting a few inches away from their noses. Iggy pushed forward, and with the height they had on Spike, he was bound to get it first.
Spike clamped his hand down on Iggy's knuckles, inches away from the crystalline orb. He locked eyes his with his quarry, squeezing down harder and harder. Spike's eyes carried a ferocity in it that not even a hardened warrior like Iggy could ignore.
"I'll crush your knuckles if I have to!" Spike spat.
Fighting against the pain, Iggy smirked, though he struggled against the tiny titan's grip. "So, you do have some heel in you after all. How...interesting."
"Shuddahp!" Spike fired back. "I ain't no villain! I'm a hero. Just like Colt."
"Keep telling yourself that, cutie." Iggy smiled, even though the sound of bones tensing before the break was audible to both of them. "I may be a bad little kitten, but my power is light. It counterbalances my darkness. If you know only one side, you'll never understand the opposite! So, do it, cutie. Break my hand! I LOVE A LITTLE PAIN TOO!"
Fuck, they're crazy! Spike gulped. Or, just horny. Then, his eyes lit up like Iggy's star show. "Don't have to, buster!" He let go, smiling.
Iggy blinked in confusion. Then, it hit him. "You...little...bitch."
Glowing golden now, Spike's hair flared back, the wet going to dry, his locks teased out at full volume. Resplendent in radiant gold, Spike turned from pasty gym bunny to gilded god, clutching the sphere in his hand. The orb shattered.
"It's my sign now," Spike said, winningly. "Leo! Sign of the lion! The king of the ring!"
In a blast of golden light, Spike flipped in the air and landed right on Iggy's back! The audience was shocked! Beer and popcorn went sailing!
Spike took hold of the stunned spellbreaker, pulling him up into a painful elevated position. He shoved his fingers into Iggy's upper jaw and mandible, yanking them apart!
"And you make a pretty tasty throne, Astro! How's about a lion tamer from this young lion?"
Iggy sputtered and gagged. "GAH!" A most humiliating and painful move! Now, Iggy Astro knew what it felt like to be violently degraded.
"My lion claw too strong for ya?" Spike said, nibbling their ear. "Why don't you give. If I'm the king, you can be my prince...and/or princess!"
Iggy struggled. And if Spike had actually been paying attention, not indulging in would-be-victory, he might have seen Iggy's right arm go for the sky blue sphere that had rolled slowly across the ring towards the fighters. A symbol of two parallel waves glowed in its core. Iggy's fingers found the sphere, a most unusual constellation crystal. Instead of inheriting a move, the sphere shattered and reconfigured itself, like a glass jigsaw puzzle, transforming into a small jar. Iggy's hand grabbed the jar tight and squeezed, crushing it, winning a fistful of bright, glittery stardust.
Just as Iggy felt that super-strong Spike might actually rip his face in half, he conjured up a neon arrow and shot it at his opponent—deliberately missing so it hit the ref instead.
"Agh!" the ref yelped, throwing her hands up to defend herself from the neon attack. She fell back into the rope, undamaged, but momentarily distracted.
"Whoops!" Iggy said, mockingly, denying culpability. "Looks like my aim was off!" Now that the ref wasn't looking, he'd make his move. Iggy tossed the clump of electric stardust into the air. A construct made up of a million pieces of light, he willed it directly into his Spike's face, splashing him with burning luminosity—the brightness of the sun.
Right in Spike's eyes.
"NO!" Colt shouted, from his VIP box. Next to him, Marcy spilled what remained of her martini. Their young lady companion covered her mouth with her white gloves.
"FUCK!" Spike cried out in pain. It was easily one of the most painful stings he'd ever experienced. His world became white, his optic nerves were briefly fried right out of his eyeballs. Obviously, he could not longer control the hold, with his hands clutching his face in agony instead.
Iggy bucked him off like a angry stallion. He stood tall, moved his jaw back and forth, then spat on the canvas. "Oh you magnificent, little twink. I did underestimate you, but not for the reasons you think, ego boy! How's that Age of Aquarius treating your poor fried out eyeballs!?"
The ref managed to get onto her feet, a little too late. She approached Spike cautiously. "What's wrong. What happened?"
"GAH, MY EYES!" Spike moved backwards in the ring, nearly tripping over himself. He pointed wildly, trying to pinpoint Iggy's spot in the ring. "Ref, that bastard blinded me!"
"Hehehe." Iggy placed his finger in his mouth, coquettishly. "But you didn't see it now, did you ref? Ohhh, I'm such a naughty little kitten." And he was right too; there was nothing she could call. The absolute devil!
Iggy was pissed now, not playful. He turned about and spun-kick vulnerable Spike, right in the gut, sending him to the canvas.
"Hey, I'm over here!" Iggy said from the other side. He kicked Spike in the ribs again, for good measure.
"SHIT!" Spike cried out.
The ref glared at Iggy Astro. She'd already suspected trickery; that little neon stunt a well-timed distraction. "Do that again you're disqualified."
"There won't BE an again," Iggy assured her. Covered in sweat. Hair tangled. Eyes white hot with anger. He looked down at his prey, savoring his defeat. Iggy Astro was no longer a god of beauty and light, but a wrathful war goddess.
The light magi turned towards the last remaining sphere, shining like a magnificent opal. Iggy willed it over, beckoned it. A symbol, not unlike the sign of omega with an underscore, burned golden in its core. Instead of shattering, the zodiac sphere crumbled into a glittery dust, enveloping Iggy Astro like a galactic cloud.
The spellbreaker glowed an intense, burning pink. "Can't open your eyes, little boy?" He bent down and collected Spike's feet, tucking them under his armpits again. "Well, that's about to be the last of your problems. I've just gotten hold of the FINAL sign. And, as the stars would have it, it's my own lucky star—Libra."
Spike tried pushing himself forward and off Iggy. It might have worked against a less technically proficient spellbreaker, but Iggy was deadly, fast, and strong. The rock and roll nightmare latched onto Spike's arms, pulling them behind his back. Even with Spike's super strength, he couldn't resist. That blinding stardust Iggy had used on him had also sapped his energy. What kind of magick was this?
The transparent constellation of Libra, shaped like a pair of balancing scales, materialized around Iggy's statuesque form, with his body positioned as the fulcrum between the balances. "Oh, and would you just look at that—it's also the inspiration of my submission finisher, The Stardust Swing! Hehehehe. Looks like the scales just tipped in my favor!"
Iggy began swinging Spike back and forth, the balancing plates of the light construct mirroring the action. "FFFUUCCK!" Spike cried out. It really was Iggy's deadliest submission thus far! Spike's legs, arms, and back were on fire. He felt like all of them might be ripped out any second by their connective tissue.
"I'm gonna pop all your tendons, cutie!" Iggy laughed psychotically. "Aww, but don't worry. I give good aftercare. HAHAHA!"
It was either use all of his accumulated strength to brace against this assault, or submit and lose the match. Spike had a choice. He'd never been terribly great at strategy, but there was only one way out of this. But it would cost him. He summoned all his pent up, kinetic energy—his magick—and reinforced his muscle tissue. It was almost as painful as Iggy stretching him out.
If I clench my jaw any harder, I'm gonna break my teeth!
Seconds passed by like an eternity. An infinite humiliation of Spike's prone body being swung like a rag doll for Iggy's pleasure. He would pay for this!
"Enough," the ref demanded.
Iggy held onto the move a few seconds longer. "What's that? Sorry, I listen to a lot of hard rock music. Did you say something?"
"NOW, ASTRO."
The ref was serious! Iggy dropped Spike right onto his face. The rockstar held up his hands innocently. He thought of stomping Spike's spine and breaking him clean, but he'd already seized the advantage.
I did it, Spike thought, trying not to pass out from the pain. "Survived your Stardust Swing!" he spat. The audience was in shambles. The nervous tension was palpable. Nobody could remember the last time someone had made it through Iggy's submission finisher with all their limbs intact.
Annoyed, but genuinely intrigued, Iggy Astro tossed their hair over their shoulder. "I must say, you aren't as basic as I'd initially pegged you for." He looked Spike's sweaty, trembling, delicious back and backside over like he was a piece of dessert. "And I could definitely see myself pegging you. Still, do you recall how my little game works? Or did all of that information just pass through that cute, empty skull of yours?"
Unable to turn his head around, Spike bored a hole in the canvas with his cutting stare. I'm gonna drop an anchor on their face...as soon as I can get up. Wait. Something's wrong...
Had Iggy's devilish move damaged Spike's nervous system somehow? No, that was impossible, thanks to the effects of the soma. And yet, Spike couldn't move, no matter how much he willed his muscles into motion! A curious, green and pink aura washed over him. Whatever magick this was, it had frozen him to the canvas, like a mouse caught in a sticky trap.
"Awww, look at that. Totally paralyzed." Iggy reached down and turned Spike over onto his back, making sure the petrified boy could see his sneering face. "Can't move? I must say, Sailor bunny, I didn't think I'd have this much fun tonight. You really know how to show a hunk a good time." Iggy winked at him.
What were they going to do? Stomp on their abs mercilessly? That'd actually be kinda hot, Spike thought. Yeah, not a bad way to go out at all! Oh crap, I have a crush on the person kicking my ass....
Iggy slowly mounted the ropes, climbing the top post with a gymnast's grace. The crystals embedded into the turnbuckle flashed green, yellow, and pink. Iggy Astro had pumped serious magick into the arena, tested the limits of what an enchanted ring could withstand. Now, it was time for the show stopper!
Iggy held his arms out to the audience, a mix of boos and wild cheers. "Music to my ears!" He leered down at Spike, stuck of his freakishly longue tongue, and made a 'slitting' motion across his neck. "Unfortunately, we're all out of constellations! And what's that?" They cupped their ear dramatically. "WHAT? I—Iggy Astro, a deusa das estrelas—activated the most? Awww, you know what that means, don't ya?"
I...can't...move. No matter how much energy Spike tried to pump into his own magick to counteract it, he was completely enchanted. He could only watch helplessly as Iggy Astro took his time.
The twelve constellations re-appeared in the dome around the arena. The stars that made up these cosmic creations unfastened themselves from their linear meshwork and drifted towards Iggy Astro, glowing white on top of the ring. The stars flowed into him, transforming his glorious mane into a colorful, comet tail of flaming, shifting hues!
"It's about to be the end for you!" Iggy shouted, tossing up the 'devil horns' to the sky. "Rock and roll never dies! SUPERNOVA PRESS!"
Iggy jumped off the ring and into the air, turning themselves into a living comet, careening right for Spike, splayed out on the mat.
Internally, Spike sighed. Ah, sh—
BOOM!!
The whole colosseum shook. The explosive blast was concussive, an electric guitar strike of furious energy and sound. Pink dust from the smoldering 'crater' in the ring wafted out over the shocked, frenetic audience.
Up in the stands, Colt grimaced. "Eessh. Poor Spike..."
"Yawn. That was fun," Iggy splayed themselves, belly to belly, over of Spike's crumpled, crispy, steaming body. The pink haired menace crossed their legs in the air, like a schoolgirl chatting to her friend on the telephone. They snapped their fingers and summoned the dumbstruck ref to end this match.
"One. Two. Three. Ring the bell!"
The bell rang. The sound was enough to force Spike's eyes open. He breathed, alive. Barely. He expected to awaken to a world of pain. And had he known more about Iggy's magick, he would have noticed that Iggy—devious heel that he was—hadn't just paralyzed Spike, but intentionally numbed him as well.
Because, even though Spike had been transformed into a steaming crater, it was all largely special effects and pyrotechnics—Iggy's Astro's expertise. Well, the completely shattered rib cage and internal organ ruptures were definitely real. But the soma would take care of that.
The ref held Iggy's arm up in triumph. Boomer Harlow called out the victory. "Your winner, Iggy Astro!"
The sweaty, glittery rockstar tossed their hands up and frolicked around the ring, kissing their adoring fans and gleefully flipping off their haters.
"As if there was any doubt!" they said smugly. They looked over the shoulder, at the ref checking Spike's pulse and deciding if he needed medical intervention. "Heh..."
Iggy strutted over. His one look sent the ref packing. Iggy Astro, pink shadow looming over Spike, observed his fallen victim struggling to breathe and move. He narrowed his eyes and leaned down, tucking his knees around Spike's head. The stunned sailor did his best to look up into the eyes of his enemy.
No...whatever it is...don't do it...
In the audience, Colt, Marcy, and their mysterious guest held their breath. Boomer was equally nervous for Spike's safety career. "Oh no, folks! Is Iggy gonna cement Spike's defeat and give him his own little autograph with his light graffiti. Doesn't look like Spike can do much about it!"
Iggy smiled, walking their fingers across slowly across Spike's bruised abs. His body tensed at the pain. He let out as mall groan.
"Hehehe. Cute little set of abs on you. And I would like to violate them with some cruel and obscene light graffiti. Make you beg and kiss my boots to lift it off of you..."
They lowered their head. Pink hair dangled in Spike's face, tickled him. It was veil, hiding the rest of the audience from whatever diabolical words the Cosmic Crusher was about to whisper in their victim's ear!
Iggy's voice was always light and haughty, but his tone suddenly changed. He was...friendly? And not fake friendly either...
"But the reality is...I can't even remember the last time I had a fun match like that. You really did impress me...Spike. Hmmm..." Iggy held their head up. They wanted to make sure the audience did, in fact, see this next part.
Holding the side of Spike's face, Iggy leaned in and slowly, gently, planted a kiss on Spike's mouth.
It was a mutual spark, a supernova of raw lust and emotion. And whether it was due to the delirium from being rocked and rolled, or true desire, Spike suddenly found his vitality restored. He pushed his lips against Iggy's, parting them for Iggy's tongue to prod and caress the inside of Spike's mouth. It was dirty. Delicious. Divine. Spike felt like he was at a dive bar, drunk, making out with the hottest—and baddest—boy in the joint. Then again, Iggy wasn't a boy. They were a whole damn experience.
And Spike was most definitely star struck.
The audience took notice, as it it was hard not to. But nobody, not even the most beer-guzzling, grizzled, barrel chested lunk in the arena, dared 'boo' and incur the wrath of Iggy Astro.
Boomer, rarely at a loss for words, cleared his throat, and even tugged at his signature Hawaiin shirt. "WOAH! Looks like the Cosmic Crusher just laid down a smackdown, AND A SMOOCH, on the Sailor's lips! Hey, what happens in Vegas, folks! Am I right?"
Iggy was the first to draw back. He winked at Spike, and stuck his tongue out. "Heh. Little bitch." A playful slap on the side of the face was what he left him with, and a brief—somewhat uncharacteristically nervous—whispered command. "Now stay down and don't move for a minute or two—you'll make me look bad if you get up now."
Spike had no intention. Nor could he, even if he wanted. He was crushed. Defeated. His ego shattered into a million pieces. A kiss was but a small consolation.
As Iggy turned and strutted out of the ring, Spike called out to them.
"Hey...Iggy..."
"Huh?" Iggy look back, annoyed.
Spike locked eyes with them. And though he felt like passing out, he wasn't about to let this heel walk out of the ring without giving him his heart-breaking smile. "I...I actually still don't know what a planetarium is."
Iggy blinked. Then, he laughed. "Hehehe." He flipped his hair and turned his beautiful back on his opponent, ignoring any attempts from his fans to congratulate him. Haughty, mean, and cool. That was Iggy Astro's style.
But keener eyed fans, and those closes to the runway entrance, might have noticed Iggy tap their finger to their chin in mischievous contemplation. "Hmmm. Spike Waterford. What a curious little kitty..."
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