Chapter 11: Let's Dance

"HOLY SH***"

Death was a lot noisier than Spike expected. He wanted to sleep. His eyes fluttered open, senses coming back online. It was hard to keep his eyes open. Sleep. Sleep was good.

"Daemian, please do not swear. You know it makes me uncomforta--HOLY SH**"

Where Spike had just been had been nothing but calm. A tranquillity still embraced him, but now everything suddenly felt more real. His body ached. His head throbbed. His vision blurred. Who were these familiar voices? What did they want? Why had they been calling his name?

"I'll get the nurse! Spike, bicha, I swear if you don't wake up I will break both your arms."

Iggy? Iggy wants to break my arm? They always want to break my arm. So...rude...

Spike's eyes fluttered open unto halogen light. For a moment, he thought he might actually be in Heaven. Then, he saw Deadboy's face--a rare mix of concern and surprise.

Spike groaned. "I'm in Hell. I guess that tracks..."

Daemian glared. "That's what you say to the bloke who BROUGHT YOU BACK FROM THE DEAD, C***?"

This was real. Spike wondered if this was what it was like to be born--to come back into existence. Everything was so strange, even though it should be familiar. Deadboy just stared at him. So odd to see him look concerned.

"Why...the hell is your hair like that?" Spike said slowly.

Gobsmacked, Deadboy--wearing a cut-off jean jacket, ran his fingers through his dark mullet, streak with purple. "You've been asleep for a bloody week and the first thing you want to do is make fun of my haircut?" Daemian's lip quivered slightly, before he threw his arms around Spike's neck. "You little idiot."

Spike turned his weary head, ready to pass out again. He was in a hospital bed. IV drip in his arms. EKG. He just knew he looked like shit. "A...week?" he said, as his eyes scanned a bedside table stacked high with get-well-cards and flowers. He recognized some of the handwriting. He certainly recognized Buck's art (damn, great pic of me holding the title belt). Spike looked toward Kengo, dressed (rather fetchingly) in a suit and tie. The lanyard around his neck confused Spike, but he was in no position to demand elaboration.

"The spirits are good," Kengo whispered under his breath. "Roomie. We thought..." His eyes filled with tears. "We brought you back from the..." Kengo shook his head. Daemian and I."

Spike groaned. His head hurt. He felt like someone had opened him up and stuffed him with cotton. Pinned on the wall next to him was a simply designed, woven dreamcatcher.

"Robbie made that for you," Daemian said, cracking open a can of coke and sitting in the chair next to Spike. "Said he wanted you to have good dreams. Did it work?"

Spike remembered everything, though he could not place when it had happened--his meeting his dad (if that were real), and seeing Salim in the 'metaphor thing' that had taken the shape of John Henry's gym. "I think so. I...I saw my dad."

Daemian blinked. "Oath?"

Spike nodded. "Oath." 

"Oh. Then you must have really died." Daemiain shrugged, put his can down, and belched loudly. He rested his Doc Martin's on Spike's bed. "Kengo and I used our glyphs to try and bring your soul back while the docs did their thing."

"There is no medical explanation for what happened to you," Kengo said. placing a cold, wet towel on Spike's forehead. "You absorbed a lot of energy. It completely short circuited your nervous system. You were clinically dead for quite some time. It is a miracle you stabilized."

Spike tried not to pass out, hearing this information alone. "A week, you said?" He thought about it. "Does that mean...?"

"Ha!" Daemian laughed. "Yeah. Bedpan. Don't worry--wasn't Ken and me changin' it."

He wasn't even embarrassed about that. In fact, Spike wanted to laugh, but his chest hurt. His life hurt. 

"We're in New York City," Kengo told Spike. "St. Milia Hospital in Manhattan. It is a very good one. They treat a lot of injuries like yours here, so I thought..."   

"I thought it felt a lot like home," Spike said, smiling. "Still...something feels...off..."

He tried to crane his neck, but Kengo gently encouraged him to stay still. Though Spike didn't have enough energy to process what was going on, there were tell-tale signs of something being...off, that bothered him. There was black box on the wall, with bright red numbers. It took Spike several seconds to realize it was some sort of time display.

"What the hell is that thing?" Spike said, nodding to the object. 

Kengo looked over his shoulder. "Oh? It is a clock."

"THAT'S a clock?"

Daemian and Kengo's eyes met. "Oh no, he doesn't realize..."

But before Spike could utter the obvious 'realize WHAT?' the sound of oncoming footsteps, and a whole team of medical staff, drew his eyes towards the door.

Nurses and doctors flocked to Spike's bedside, muttering shocked medical phraseology that Spike couldn't even begin to understand. Besides, he was too distracted by the tall, muscular figure in the tight shirt and light-pink blazer. Their crossly cropped hair, almost a mohawk, threw Spike completely off.

"Ig...Iggy?"

Spike's malicious mentor smiled. "Bom dia, sleepy head." Iggy posed, letting free a small shower of sprakles. "What do you think of the new do?"

"You got new hair too?" Spike asked, confused. "Why does everyone have new hair? Did we all treat ourselves to the salon after savin' the world, or what?"

"Ah, yeah...about that." Iggy nodded to the doctors. "Let's...get you back on your feet first before we blow your mind."

Spike felt dizzy. "My mind's already been blown for one lifetime, friend."

Spike's fatigue soon caught up with him (as did the medications) and he found himself in a welcome, dreamless sleep before long. By morning, however, he felt full of vim and vigor. The doctors told him they'd need to monitor him throughout the day. Spike had no choice but to agree. 

"I left the boss a message on the ol' answering machine," Daemian said, coming back into the room. 

"That 'what'?" Spike shook his head. "A machine that answers you?"

The doctors had briefly asked all guests to leave while they checked Spike's vitals. They were all shocked to find him, suddenly, the picture of health. The punk (with the mullet) nodded to Spike. "You...don't know what an answering machine is?"

"Duh?"

Daemian glared. "Want me to send you back to the underworld again, s***c***? Ugh. But that's right--we didn't have widely available answering machines in the sixties, yeah?" 

Spike couldn't follow. His head still hurt. As he tried to make sense, Kengo sprung back into the room, red faced and panting.

"It's...it's Sandra Iron."

Spike forced himself up, wincing, trying to stabilize himself. He wasn't dizzy. Good. "Whaddya' mean? Did she get hurt too? She wasn't even there! Is Mr. Iron okay? Why aren't you answering me!?"

"OY! Because you're talkin' a kilometre-a-minute, mate!" Daemian spat. "One thing at a time, or do you want your pretty head to nearly explode again? Didn't think so."

"She gave birth!" Kengo said, catching his breath at last. "A healthy baby boy!"

Spike's face lit up like the sun. "Whaaaaa!? World champion and a new dad? Mr. Iron must feel on top of the world." As he should. Goddess knows coach deserved it. "When do we get to see the baby?"

Kengo walked over and gently pressed his massive hand on Spike's forehead, lowering back to the pillow. "When this baby is cleared to get on his feet." He poured Spike a glass of water. "Minoru sends his regards too. He said he knew you'd come back, that you were too much of a..." Kengo blushed. "Expletive expletive to die. In my system of belief, when someone recovers from a grave illness around the same time as a new birth in their community, it is believed the two souls become interlinked."

The sudden realization, that he'd nearly died, made Spike's head swim. "Damn. Huh. Waitaminute...does that mean...Mr. Iron appointed me the kid's Goddess Father?"

"Nah," Daemian laughed. "He said that'd be Colt. The president is back in San Antonio, dealing with..." Daemian shrugged. "Everything. Did you know we had to all get interviewed and  debriefed by the bloody CIA? Aradia's been called into the UN and everything. Weirdly enough though, what happened at the world championships has cooled the heels of both Russia and the US. They're still pointin' nukes at each other, but they took what happened in Kitezh as a warning. I'm sure Lily is chuffed to know he org is gonna get heaps of funding now..."

Spike still had a million questions. Kengo tried his best to answer. Kengo was a resident now, at this hospital. When the glyph had run amok, Deadboy used his dark magick to teleport the rest of the spellbreakers to safety. But when they'd come out the other side of the dark corridor, the New York City they'd appeared in was...well...

"Changed," Kengo explained. "Uh...you see..." 

Spike's heart skipped a beat. "How long have I really been asleep, Kuma?"

Kengo smiled, nervously. "A week."

"And you became a resident of a New York City hospital WITHIN A WEEK? I mean, I knew you were smart, but--"

"It is...complicated. We still don't understand it. But...it seems Salim did something to...well...I...can't..." Kengo was tongued tied. 

Spike, glad to be walking around, tugged on his hospital gown. "Never mind, you'll either give me or yourself a panic attack. Salim mentioned to me that he had to something to...the timeline?" Spike scratched his head.

Kengo nervously handed Spike a pile of clothing. "We couldn't find your old clothing when we escaped Kitezh. Iggy and Daemian seemed to think you'd appreciate these?"

Spike frowned as he picked up the navy blue top. "Kengo. This shirt is missing its bottom." Spike tossed off the hospital gown and looked at himself in the mirror, giving himself a flirty wink and 'finger gun'. "Still got the bod, at least. And...THE HAIR!?"

Spike's eyes bugged out of his head. His hair was no longer shortly cropped, Navy style, but long and luscious and full (just like it had been, briefly, in his showdown with Salim). He looked more like the old Iggy Astro! Spike couldn't help but run his fingers through it.

"Yesss. YES. LOOK AT ME. Kengo! Look how pretty I am." He tossed his hair back and forth, like a shampoo model. "What's my secret? Well, I'll never tell. Oh yes. YESSSS." 

Growing rapidly excited with his new 'look' (not even questioning how his hair had grown in the span of a week) Spike tugged his new shirt over his body. His abs were completely visible.

"It's called a...crop...top?" Kengo explained. "Apparently they are quite popular with men these days."

These days? Spike put on the short shorts and admired himself in the mirror. "This is...the singular best piece of clothing that's ever been invented. Kinda' weird though. Don't ya think people will look at me funny wearing something like this?"

Iggy waltzed into the room and whistled at his mentee. "Lookin' good and slutty."

Spike frowned. "I dunno, Igs. Even I don't think is appropriate to wear to see a baby."

"Here," Daemian said, tossing him his jean jacket. "Just don't get baby vomit on it."

---

"OH HE'S THE MOST PRECIOUS THING!"

John and Sandra's kid looked like a little peanut. He slept against his mother's chest. Sandra, looking very glamorous for a woman who'd just given birth to her first kid, smiled down at him.

"He was pretty easy," Sandra said. "My momma always said that an easy labor meant rearing an easy kid."

"Bet you were a difficult birth," Mr. Iron said, winking at his wife.

"John Henry, you're lucky I'm in this bed!" She laughed. "Do you want to hold him?" She offered Spike.

"What!?" Spike balked. "No. I'm...what if I drop him?"

"He's an Iron," John said, gently taking his son (nearly lost in his father's arms) and placing him in Spike's hands. "He'd probably just bounce."

Spike swallowed. He looked down at the sleeping baby. He decided then that he'd gladly throw himself in front of a runaway glyph again for this kid. "What's his name?" Come on, you named him Spike, right.

"We named him Spike," Sandra said.

"REALLY!?"

"No!" the woman laughed. "But I just wanted to see your face. It was worth it."

"Aurelio," Mr. Iron said. "A name as good as gold."

"My father was Cornelio," Sandra explained. "And 'Au' is the periodic symbol for gold. I think he'll probably just end up being called 'Lio' though. I don't want him to get beat up on the playground."

"If he's our kid," John said, "he'll be the one doing the beating up."

"Oh, John! We don't even know if he'll have a glyph yet." Sandra took back her kid. "And it won't matter. It's a new world, now. He's going to be just fine."

Spike was inclined to agree. For the first time in awhile, he felt hopeful and calm. 

While Sandra tended to Aurelio, Mr. Iron took Spike on a walk down the hospital corridor. More and more, Spike picked up on the strange technology about the place--vending machines with glass windows and electronic buttons; windowed boxes with green, electronic text that nurses and doctors communicated with via some sort of typewriter board, signs telling people not to smoke.

"Notice anything...interesting?" Mr. Iron said, slyly.

"This hospital is state of the art," Spike marvelled. "I've never seen machines like these before."

"We've had a week to get used to it. It's odd. You look at something like a computer, are confused for a moment or two, and then it's like you suddenly remember everything about it. I reckon that snake Salim had some hand in it."

Spike bit his lip. "Yeah. He said had to do something to fix the mess he made. Also, what's a computer?"

"Fine mess indeed. I'd crack his skull again if I could...but he's seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth. International wanted man, they say."

"How's it feel to be champion?"

"Meh." Mr. Iron, dressed in a fine, charcoal suit (the cut and tie also very 'modern') smiled at his young apprentice. "Being World Champ is all well and good, but it's just a title. Sure, it's nice to be recognized but...I'm much more concerned about the state of the world."

Spike and Mr. Iron stopped at the lobby lounge. A nurse slept on the couch. A doctor handed a different nurse some coffee in a plastic cup. It was strangely quiet. The music over the loudspeakers had unusual instrumentation that Spike had never heard before--a sort of tinny, electronic sound. He liked it.

"The music is different too," Mr. Iron said, absently.

"Salim told me that you didn't make a wish," Spike said.

"No."

"Why, coach?"

Mr. Iron sighed and leaned against the corridor wall. "I really should have. It just didn't feel right. There's no shortcuts in life, blondie. Certainly not when it comes to changing the world. I just...I hope I made the right choice."

"Coach, it's you--of course you did, big guy. I'd trust you with the world. And I guess...we all kinda' did."

Mr. Iron gave him a wan, sad smile. "I keep forgetting. And funny that, nobody will know. But I guess that's being selfless, eh? I've managed to brush up on history. Since the world suddenly changed over night. History books say we've come a long way, people like you and I. I suspect though, we haven't come long enough. We still have a tough fight on our hands. That's the thing about being a face, Spike. There's always a new heel to tangle with--always another battle."

Sobering words. Spike wasn't sure he was ready to hear them so soon, after all that had happened. 

"We'll beat them," he said, confidently.

---

Manhattan's towers were as tall as ever...and even taller than Spike had remembered. New York had become an arcology of glittering spires illuminated by massive, swinging spotlights. Gone were the aesthetics of brass and chrome--the art deco skyscrapers had since been dwarfed by pyramidal apartment blocks numbering the thousands. Old Manhattan was dead.

Neon reigned supreme. 

New wave spilled forth, cold and distant, from out of the goth's boombox as the girl with the black eyeliner gave dumbfounded Spike a confused look. Across the street, a woman in a spandex leotard, with a teased-out, hair-sprayed mane, hailed a taxi cab that appeared to be hovering several inches off the ground. The women around Spike dressed in business suits with padded shoulders. Glowing signs of neon fury rose around Spike, dazzled by this strange Manhattan of the modern. 

His eyes followed the chyron wrapping around the news tower in front of him. April 12th. 1985.

Spike fell backwards, caught at the last second by Iggy Astro, chewing a piece of gun. "Welcome to the future, Spike."

"I...need to sit down," Spike said, taking a seat at the hospital bench. In front of him, the poster on the bus stop advertised a band of psychedelic, spandex-clad rock stars. Iggy recognized the one in the front. Vanity Paradise and Iggy Astro--Live!

Revelling in his bewilderment, Iggy wrapped their arm around Spike and held them close. "The future has been kind to the Cosmic Crusher! Imagine that. I step out of the nineteen-sixties into 1985 and suddenly I'm more famous for my music than my spellbreaking." He beamed. Hearts of solid light floated up from their head. "I always thought my sound was much too ahead of its time. Turns out, it's right at home here the eighties."

Spike was on the verge of puking. "But...HOW ARE WE NOT LIKE...FORTY YEARS OLD!?"

Then Spike remembered. 'Cut-and-paste job', Salim had said.

Iggy shrugged. "Well, after what we saw in Kitezh, I don't really question much any more. It is weird though. Only the GSA and the Aradia task force seem to remember that last week we were still years away from putting a man on the moon. Now..." Iggy shrugged.

Spike's jaw dropped. "WE PUT A MAN ON THE MOON?" 

Nonplussed, Iggy pointed to the road. "Hover cars, Spike. Please keep up. Oh yeah, it also looks like spellbreaking has gotten pretty popular. Look." Iggy nodded to one of the many electronic signs hanging off the side of the news tower across the way.

Spike squinted. Then, his heart dropped. "YOU GOTTA BE FRIGGIN' KIDDIN' ME!"

Full of sound and fury and light, the TV advertisement for Sunday Night Spellbreaking showcased a hole slew of spellbreakers Spike had never crossed paths before--all of them more colorful, dazzling, and RIPPED than Spike had ever seen. Mr. Iron shirtless, flexed for the camera, grinning, with his world champ belt slung over his shoulders.

Spike smiled. "He's still champ. Great."

Then, his smile faded. Spike never liked seeing himself on TV (a surprise to everyone, considering his ego). Here he was, decked out in navy and gold gear, posing on top of the turnbuckle. Spike had never seen himself look so...confident before.

Spike on TV raised the mic to his lips. "That's right--get a look at all this perfection." Spike gestured to his enviable, muscular body. 

"Wow, that's a lot of baby oil I've got on." On the street, Spike noted his double's new gear. Blue velvet, trimmed white, like the cushioning of a crown. Royal. Gone, however, was the anchor--replaced instead with the golden emblem of a lion rearing up for attack.

Spike couldn't believe it. "That's...me, right, Igs? Not Cian in disguise or anything weird, right?"

Iggy flicked Spike's nose. "Shh. Yes. Watch."

Spike on TV tossed back his mane and allowed his loyal subjects to finish their cheers. "Yes. You all see it. I'm shinin' like the sun. And that mouthy hick who claims he's gonna dethrone me is in for a shock to the system when I kick his teeth in next week!" 

The crowd popped. 

"WOAH! I sound like a heel!" Spike squeaked.

"You're welcome," Iggy answered.

"Huh. So...I'm still in a hot rivalry with Vahni?"

Iggy, grinning with mischief, turned away. "You'll see..."

Spike on TV grabbed the camera and brought it closer to his face. "You hear that, sports fans? Next Sunday...you're gonna watch a young lion take down a buck. Wild Buck, that is. You say you aren't your daddy's boy, Buck Tamberly? Damn right. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be calling ME daddy." Spike dropped the mic. The crowd went berserk.

On the bench, Spike's face nearly fell off into the concrete. "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa????"

Before Iggy could even butt in with something snarky or clever, the two spellbreakers heard a gasp from their right. A young teen, dressed in a basketball jersey, with gelled-up hair, pointed at them. "YO! Check it out! It's the Young Lion!"

Spike cocked his head to the side. "Igs, is that youth talkin' to us?"

Nearby, a girl with teased out, blonder hair squeaked and ran towards them, her beaded necklaces dangling in the wind. Others too, young and old, closed in.

Spike jumped back into the bench. "What's goin' on!?" He was already freaked out enough as is. These people, with big hair, and strange, colorful outfits, swarmed him.

"Autograph! Please!"

"Spike, my son loves you!"

"Young Lion, put me in a lion clutch, please!"

Spike blinked, trying his best to recompose himself. He cleared his throat, glanced briefly at his smug mug on the TV, and tried his best to emulate this spellbreaker he apparently was in this timeline. "Well...of course. Only my most loyal subjects could recognize me in the wild. Obviously you aren't peasants."

Spike had missed this. Whatever Salim had done to the time line, he'd thrown them a bone. But what had happened to Spike's 'Sailorboy' moniker? Everything on the TV set showed a world where spellbreaking was bigger, bolder, brighter. Was this perhaps the 'Golden Age' of spellbreaking that Colt had long-hope was somewhere on the horizon?

And what of Buck? Wild Buck? Where was he now?

Spike did his best to keep up his kayfabe (he enjoyed being ab it of a cocky dick) signing autographs and kissing cheeks. Iggy took the role of makeshift manager, shooing away the riff raff (and clearly indulging in the role). Soon, though, the crowd became overwhelming. Spike stood on the bench and called for order.

Just as he did, a bright flash threw the sidewalk meet-and-greet into a tizzy. Spike's 'loyal subjects' drew back from the blazing circle of fire that had sprouted at Spike and Iggy's feet. Spike looked to Iggy. "Rage?"

The ring of fire widened, pushing away the manic audience. It divided in front of Spike, forming a corridor for him to follow. With no other choice, Spike walked forward, craning his head over his shoulder and watching Iggy, lounging on the bench, wave him on.

A white limousine, trimmed in gold, zoomed down the road towards Spike. As it did, the so-called 'Young Lion' looked up across the street, noticing two familiar faces.

Seemed time hadn't caught up with Cian yet. He wore a tight ringer tee (green, of course), looking every bit like the high school jock. Next to him, face barely concealed by a black cowboy hat...

"Buck!?"

The handsome Buck tipped up his hat, looking at Spike with an intense expression. He looked tougher, now (maybe it was his lack of glasses ). Like a more cleaned up, yet intimidating, version of his father.

He smiled.

Spike smiled back.

The white limo pulled up alongside Spike, just as the flames (and crowd) died down. The door opened upward, on its hinges. Spike looked inside the lit interior.

Arms stretched across upholstered seats, a martini sitting on a table in front of him, the man in the suit adjusted his collar. Spike's first thought was that he was looking at Salim. 

But he'd know Vahni Rage's glamorous hair and handsome face anywhere. The well-suited heel's smirk could still cut deeply into Spike's heart. He reached down towards the table, picked something up, and threw it outside the limo.

A gold collar landed at Spike's feet. He looked down at it, and then at the handsome rogue waiting for him in the limo. 

Rage shrugged. Your choice. 

Mischief on his mind (and a whole host of more lascivious ides) Spike bent down and picked up the collar. He placed it across his neck and latched it, flicking the little name-tag that read "SPIKE".  

He stepped into the car, finding the door automatically shut behind him. Without fear, Spike took a seat next to Vahni Rage, who looked down at him with a hunger--and a softness--in his eyes.

This time, Spike grabbed Rage's neck first, pulling him and kissing him passionately. Thank goodness the limo's partition was up. Spike and Rage would need their privacy.

As the limo pulled away, Cian and Spike, left on a sidewalk strewn with litter and discarded newspaper, watched their friend vanish into the skyways of modern Manhattan.

Buck's fists tightened. Cian looked at him with empathy. "Don't worry, boyo. He always does that."

Buck's shoulders raised, and then fell. He tipped his head. "I know," he said. "That's Spike. Just makes things more interesting now."

Cian turned his head towards his friend, now a spellbreaker--and a deadly one--in his own right. "What do you mean?"

Buck's smile flashed just as brightly as his eyes lit up, wicked green. "You think you're king of the jungle, Spike? The hunt is on. And you will be mine..."

Just One More Thing...

Chapter 1: Night of the Living Deadboy

The cedar-scented office of the Global Spellbreaking Alliance was a cozy, circular room, part college dean's office and part rambunctious cowboy hideaway. A cow skull head hung on the wall, next to placards and photographs of Colt the Bolt in his heyday. A portrait of a gruff, pink-faced man with a tremendous moustache (bearing striking resemblance to both Colt and his son, Buck) scowled down from over the mantel place, on which slept Buck's Maine coon cat, Zeus.

In a leather upholstered desk chair, Buck Tamblery, a slick new haircut and fancy glasses to his name, toyed with the phone chord in his hands. "Thank you, kindly," he said in his urban, Texan twang. "If that's all well and good, we'll book in for the Dublin show and then...Glastonbury. Great. Have a good day." He hung up, allowing all of the welled-up anxiety to burst through in one, long sigh. "Phew!"

Across from him, watering one of the plants Buck had moved into his erstwhile father's old office, Spike looked up at his friend (now boss) and smiled affectionately.  "Hard work?, Mr. President..."

Buck rubbed the bridge of his nose and smiled at his favorite 'stress sponge', Spike. His presence was sorely welcome. "Honestly, not much of a difference, Yankee. I guess I never realized how much of this place I already ran. Still, I can't believe Dad made me interim president while he gets to go off and re-live his glory days." He growled, annoyed. "No, wait, actually...I can."

With that said, Buck turned to his lazy cat. "Hey, Zeusy, rise and shine."

On command, the somewhat comical cat opened his eyes and mewed. 

Buck motioned for him. "Don't give me that attitude. Come down and play with Spike."

The car hopped off his perch, and--sure enough--sauntered over to Spike, who affectionally pet him on the head.

"Wow, Buck, your dad was right."

"Hm?"

"About you being good with animals." Spike took the seat across from the mahogany desk. "You know, Varla's daughter was like that too. Did you ever meet her and her kid?"

Buck laughed. "Dad's old flame. And probably the best woman he never married. Definitely not Ma, bless her heart. Yeah, I like Varla. Laurie and I get along fine too. Like the little sister I never hard." Buck took a sip of green tea on his desk. "I heard her glyph awoke recently?"

"Yeah. Nature glyph."

"Lucky. If she had a brother, he'd probably get that one too." Buck glanced over at a small photo frame, smiled, and placed it closer to his friend (and employee). "Lily says the nature glyph is one of the few genetic ones shared by siblings. It skips a generation. She's been researching it."

Spike looked at the picture. He recognized Buck. Even at a young age, he favored basketball shorts as daily attire. However, he didn't recognize the child with him, dressed similarly.

Wait. Maybe he did. Spike squinted. "Who's that kid with you?"

Buck laughed. "You don't recognize her? That's Lily. She went by a different name back then. She's a smart one. Once told me that people have different 'awakenings' across their life. Some people awaken to their glyph, which, of course, she did. But she also awakened to her gender. Seems the two manifested at the same time." The Tamberly heir leaned backed in his chair and rested his cowboy boots on his desk. "The other kids at school bullied her when she did. 'Til dad showed up one day."

"And then what happened?" Spike asked.

"They stopped." Buck grinned, devilishly. "Lily's family and ours have been thick as thieves. I sleep better at night knowing she's watching out for us. Still...I feel like I should have been able to stand up for her, back then. I really hate feeling weak..."

This again, Spike thought. But, he wasn't annoyed. He had his insecurities too. "Hey, if this about what happened in Bolivia, remember that you actually resisted Serpent's magick. Not even your dad or myself could do that."

"Still have no idea how it happened either," Buck said, deep in thought. 

Across the room, Zeus perked his head up. "Meow."

"Yeah," Buck said, seemingly to the cat. "I had considered that too..."

Spike looked between cat and man. "You can...understand each other?"

"What, and you can't? Hahaha. Anyways, sounds like dad is having a grand time, crushing men's skulls and re-living his glory days. Hell, I'd say the old man probably needed it." Buck glanced over at a postcard his father had sent him from Nairobi, full of its solar powered skyscrapers and skyways. "I still can't get over the fact that my dad, the biggest clown on Earth, was the guy who made you realized you were..."

Spike blushed. "Hey, speaking of awakenings, right?" Still, Spike picked up on Buck's low mood. "I know being GSA president must feel kinda' weird still, but you're doing so well, bud! And...I know your dad did this because it keeps you grounded and he doesn't have to worry about managing the GSA while he's out fighting Firebird."

"Oh, a thinly-disguised manipulation that somehow benefits someone else while at the same time elevates him and makes him look good? Gee..." Buck sighed. "Dad is a deeply frustrating man."

Spike could tell he was fumbling the ball. Buck had summoned him here to discuss the next show, but Spike had ulterior motives. After much encouragement from the others, Spike had decided to ask Buck to get drinks or coffee with him. 

I.e. a date. 

But now it felt like he'd lost the opportunity. Getting into the ring with scary monster men was easy. Asking boys out? Impossible.

Instead, Spike's eyes settled randomly on a portrait opposite the late Oxnard Tamberly. It was smaller picture, to be sure, but its subject seemed to extend her influence beyond the frame. She was a rather intense, dark skinned woman in a prairie dress, with white hair pulled into a bun. She balanced one hand on a gilded cane. The other hand was clutched around a Cuban cigar.

"Who's the scary lady?" Spike asked, nodding to the portrait. 

"Huh? Oh! That's the actual President of Texas. Madame Wilma Hidalgo. She's a fan of spellbreaking. Shares the same glyph as dad's, too. Anyways, on to business..."

"All ears, Mr. President."

"You're booked in for the Dublin show in a few weeks. Then, on to Glastonbury. It's a bit off the beaten path, but it's an important show." Buck lowered his glasses and tapped to a Shiner beer stein on the desk.  "*cough* *cough*"

Spike stared ahead, blankly. Next to him, Zeus scowled and resumed his nap in the carpet.

"We're...getting a beer sponsorship?" Spike proposed.

"No!" Buck said, slapping his forehead in frustration. He mouthed: the Chalice.

"Ohhh. That." 

"T. Rex said the Divine Chalice of Compassion is hidden in Glastonbury, England, former seat of the Alban Empire. Sadly, that's all the information we have. Lily is supposed to reach out on a secure line soon to hammer out the details concerning where to find it and how to keep it out of Firebird's hands. As for the Dublin match--"

Spike jumped out of his seat, with all the intensity of a man about to swing fists in a bar brawl. "Who am I fightin'!? Sailor is on a roll!"

"Yes, actually, on to that." Buck leaned forward and adjusted himself to look more professional. "As your friend, I want to keep up the encouragement. You're now at the Silver Star level after almost a year in. That's big. You're also gaining in popularity, especially with the male demographic."

Spike's response to this was a flirty wink.

"But, as your boss, it is my job to select the best opponent for you--to keep up an interesting 'storyline'. That said, there is someone else at the GSA on a similar level to you. And...it's been a long time coming."

Spike strained his brain to think. "Uh...Gio? You want me to fight Gio?"

"No," Buck winced. He smiled, devilishly. "Spike, you will be going up against...Cian Enbarr."

Chapter 8: Late Night Workout

Bare feet touched down on the cold linoleum floor. Spike hugged his arms close to his chest, stared into the dark, and leaned against his bunk bed ladder. His adjusted his eyes, trying to scope out his pants and shirt that he’d flung down somewhere before crawling into bed and failing to find the comfort of sleep.

Behind him, Kengo—turned to his side—back facing him, orchestrated a symphony of snores. It wasn’t his snoring that had kept Spike up (for once), but the impending trip to Las Vegas in the morning. It would be the first time in a few months that Spike had gone back to the States. It would also mark his next big challenge. If he beat the rock-and-rolling, one-person lightshow known as Iggy Astro, he’d clinch his Silver Star and move up the rankings. If he failed? Well, Iggy would probably snap his spine and use it as the staff for his next guitar.

Moonlight washed over Kengo’s backside, illuminating his impressive tattoo, the sun bear, frozen mid-roar, with eyes of burning fury. Kengo’s familiar, the aggressive and foul-mouthed Minoru, was so unlike his polite master. Then again, Spike recalled how viciously Kengo fought in the ring. Maybe the guardian spirit represented the fighter inside, a contrast to the shy, well-tempered sumo and roommate that Spike adored.

After tossing on a workout shirt and shorts, Spike tip-toed to his desk in an attempt to grab the keys without jingling them and making a racket.

Something a’ matter, cub?

Sleeplessness had turned into insanity. Or at least, that’s what Spike thought to himself as he stood frozen in the dark, with his keys in his hands. I'm hearing things again. I've gone crazy. Surprised it took this long...

Pssst. Look over here, twink.

Spike, more confused than afraid, swivelled his head to his slumbering roommate. Nothing. Or, nothing obvious. Spike narrowed his eyes. A soft, unearthly blue glow surrounded his sleeping roommate. At first, Spike mistook the movement for the natural rise and fall of Kengo’s broad back as he slept. The tattoo was alive. No longer prostrated with its head raised in a roar, the sun bear crawled down closer to Kengo’s spine. It reared up on its back legs and looked over at Spike.

Surprise, kid. It’s me. You know…Minoru.

Spike blinked. “I don’t want to wake up Kengo,” he whispered.

Hah! The kid could sleep through the end of the world, so don’t worry. Just think loudly at me. I can hear you.

Even though Spike had fully come to term with the impossibilities of magick, there were still some aspects of the paranormal that completely threw him for the loop. Case in point: talking tattoos. Knowing my head, if I try to ‘think’ at you, it’s gonna sound like an echo inside an empty warehouse. …Oh, am I doing it?

Yeah, I can hear you, cub. 

Wait, can you like...see into my thoughts?

You mean, can I see this fantasy you're having of Colt and Buck dressed as cowboys, tying you up like a cow and---

MINORU!

HA! I'm kidding. I can't see shit.

Right! Yes. That's definitely not something I've ever actually fantasied before...

What’s wrong, twink? Why are you up so late? Bad burrito at the canteen?

I need some fresh air. Can’t sleep. Too much energy.

The animated tattoo readjusted itself, lying down and cozying up in the curve of Kengo’s oblique. Fight got you spooked, eh? Well, for the record, I still think you’re a little shit for badmouthing my buddy. But he seems to like you, so…I guess I have to look out for you too, huh.

Spike smiled. I like Kengo a lot. I think he’s one of the best guys. But I think I’m a bad influence on him.

Probably. But he needs to grow a little bit of an edge, so you might be the right punk for the job. Hmm. Well, I don’t have to worry about sleep, so maybe I’m not the best spirit to take advice from, but if I had to give my two-cents, I’d say a light workout would tucker you out enough.

It wasn’t a bad idea. At this hour though? Meh. Never mind. Late night gym session. Sounds good to me.

The bear lowered its head, a satisfied reply. You’re a tough little shit, cub. You just need to sharpen your claws more.

These days, Spike would take the encouragement where he got it—even from non-corporeal beings disguised as body art. Spike tip-toed across to the door and touched the handle.

Then, he had a thought. Hey, Minoru. Question. This is going to sound weird, but there was another night back before a big gig when I couldn’t sleep either. I thought I heard something talk to me, just like you are now, but figured I was just being crazy. Do…all spirits speak like you do?

Huh? Well, yeah, I guess. It’s not like we really speak to each other, all buddy-buddy, but yeah, I imagine that’s the only way we higher beings can communicate to you stinking piles of animated meat. I guess other thingscould do it too. Gods. Demons. Who knows? It’s a wide, weird world out there. If you had to ask me? Your apartment was probably haunted, and you might just have a sixth sense.

Spike gulped. Great. Not the suggestion I wanted to hear as I’m about to walk out into the deep dark night.

Hehehe. Enjoy your workout!

Chapter 7: Spike Bags the Bronze!

“Silly, pathetic, little boy.”

A red boot slammed into Spike’s chest at exactly “fuck-you” miles per hour, sending the Sailorboy straight into the ropes. The audience—that is, the good folks of San Antonio—didn’t even have time to gasp. The boyishly handsome, model blonde bounced off the ropes and straight into his opponent’s trap.

Reina Rosa, The Queen of Thorns, wore her hair in a tight ponytail, clipped with—what else?—a rose. With painted red lips, smoky eyes, and a wicked smile, she cut an intimidating figure. She also hit like a damn truck. As soon as dazed Spike fell forward, she grabbed him by the arms, pulled him straight over head, and slammed his pretty head straight into the canvas.

“And that’s how you do it!” she laughed, whipping her ponytail back in triumph. "Man, I love hurting cute boys. Am I right, ladies?" She winked to the women in the audience, who erupted in a hearty cheer. Their boyfriends slowly cowered away.

“Agh!” Spike groaned, tasting canvas. “I knew I shouldn’t have picked out those boots for you.” He moaned with agony. "They...really match your outfit, completing a feminine but otherwise dangerous and modern look." He spat blood onto the mat. 

The Queen of Thorns scowled mischievously at her prey. “Should have probably mentioned this to you before you got in the ring with me...” She stopped short, and kicked Spike right in the side, stomping her thick, shiny boots down on his ribs. “But I’m a heel.”

Spike coughed spittle. “Rosa, I thought we were friends.”

“Oh, we are.” The fighter in red tugged on her leotard strap and held out her hand. Spike looked up just in time to see her eyes flash bright green, an unearthly glow. From out of the aether, a thorny vine—not unlike a whip—appeared in her hands. “But you know how it is with friends sometimes!”

With a well-timed flick of her wrist, the Queen of Thorns whipped Spike across his pale, white back—tearing open skin and lining his unmarred flesh with red, swollen welts.

“AGH!” Spike screamed. He tumbled further to get away from the next lash, barely dodging the thorny assault. "I thought I'd pegged you for a gentlewoman!"

"You're not the one who's gonna get pegged tonight if I have my way."

In the audience, Spike’s friends and fellow trainees watched the fight with bated breath. Sanjay, wearing a Calavera Escarlata t-shirt, turned to Dragon Azul and whispered, “Is it wrong that I find this really hot?”

The masked, young man gulped. "What's hot about it?"

"Oh, I mean nothing! There's nothing at all arousing about a thick, curvy, muscular Latina stomping her big, red boots into the back of a slightly feminine--but very muscular--beautiful, whiteboy and making him squirm and squeal like a little piggy. I definitely wouldn't want to be in Spike's position right now! No, sir!"

“I mean…if you’re into it bro.”

“I’m not saying I am!” Sanjay stammered back. He coughed. “But I am.”

For Dragon, it was more stressful than entertaining. “I don’t know who to root for, bro! These are our friends!”

For Cian, holding up a sign portraying a giant boot stomping down a stick-figure version of Spike, it was a bit more obvious where his allegiances lay. “MAKE HIM BLEED, MY QUEEN!”

“Cian,” Sanjay said, trying to tune out Spike’s yelps from the ring, “do you like watching Spike get brutalized by dominant women? Or would you rather do the brutalizing!”

“Er…I plead the fifth.”

“That’s…not how that works.”

"I'm not from this country, boyo, I don't know what laws are!" Cian grunted. "Eyes forward and watch the match. I'm waiting for that pretty punk to start crying for mercy!"

Kengo held his bucket of popcorn closer to his chest. “I am afraid for Spike! I didn’t know Rosa was so scary!”

By now, Rosa had Spike tangled up in her thorny vines, completely binding his hands and feet, intertwining her rose branches with the ring ropes. There was nowhere for Spike to go. The runes woven into the rope glowed green trying to absorb Rosa’s plant magick, as Spike struggled pitifully to free himself. It was no use. The thorns only dug deeper. His fair skin now ran with blood, a scene not unlike a Renaissance painting of a saint mid-martyrdom.

The Sailorboy glared defiantly at his opponent, taking her time walking over to her intended victim. “That shade of lipstick is tacky.” He spat more blood onto the canvas.

The audience simultaneously let out a collective, “Oooooh,” recoiling in fear of what the rose-wielding amazon would do to her foe now.

“It’s a great shade and you know it,” she said nonchalantly, before slapping Spike across the cheek with an open hand.

Spike groaned. “Yeah, okay, I was lying. It’s a bold yet classic lip.”

“I’ll make your lips red too!” Rosa snarled, hitting him again. “Red from the blood!" 

“Your trash talk needs work,” Spike said, wincing. Seriously the thorns in the side of his soft bits were not fun.

“Oh?” The beautiful spellbreaker raised her eyebrow. “How about my chops?”

WHAP! 

Rosa struck Spike on the chest, leaving behind a red handprint.

“How about another one!”

WHAP! 

Spike’s brow glistened with sweat, even as he tried biting down on his tongue to keep from screaming. “Be careful, Rosa. You don’t want to awaken something in me. Last thing you need is two bisexual men making your life difficult.”

Rosa made a quick motion with her hands, tightening her vines even more. Spike’s body ran red with rivers of blood. “I would give up now, if I were you, handsome.”

Truthfully, Spike did want to give up. He moaned, almost sexually. He looked up into his pretty opponent’s eyes. “You’re just afraid I’ll steal your man from you.”

This time, Rosa elbowed Spike directly in the face, eliciting another reaction from the crowd. When she pulled back her arm, hoping to Spike’s unconscious head lolling into his chest, all she saw was him smiling right at her.

And the blue, radiant glow now emitting from his body. His baby-blue eyes intensified, before glowing intense orange. The burning silhouette of his glyph appeared behind his dilating pupils. 

Rosa's jaw dropped. How had she fallen for it?! Even she had to crack a smile. “You son of—”

“RAGGGH!” Spike’s muscles, imbued with the kinetic force of Rosa’s physical assault, bulged against her tight thorns. This is really gonna suck, he thought. Lucky for him, his glyph’s activation help dull the thorns' bite. Spike flexed all his muscles at once, ripping through the vines like they were made of paper. He breathed deeply, sweat and blood dripping onto the canvas. The soma coursing through his system sealed up his wounds in rapid time. He had gone from bound, beautiful boy to muscle beast in an instant.

The crowd popped.

Rosa covered her mouth, in shock. “Oh crap…”

Spike, fully recovered, gave her his standard goofy grin. “Ok. Let’s dance!”

Spike shot to his knees, grabbing Rosa under her thigh and hoisting her up onto his back. The plant magi tried to summon her vines, but she realized right away that her magick was tapped. She’d channelled all of her energy into binding and holding Spike, and then used her physical stamina beating him down, failing to realize he was deliberately goading her into feeding him the reactive force that his magick thrived on.

Up until now, strategy hadn't really been Spike’s strong suit. Had he…actually been paying attention in class?

"I can't lost to a himbo!" Rosa spat. 

“I hate to do this to ya,” Spike said, holding his struggling opponent aloft, “but I gotta get that Bronze Star!”

He didn’t waste time pumping his energy into his muscles, jumping into the air and slamming Rosa straight back down into the mat. The ground shook. She wasn’t knocked out, but there was no chance of her getting up after that. He hooked her legs for the pin, the ref counting her out. She kicked out...one second too late.

The bell rang. Somewhere out in the audience, Cian lowered his sign in dismay.

“Unnnhhhh,” Rosa moaned, coming to her senses. She looked upward at Spike as the ref held his hand up for the victory. To his confusion, she sniffed the air. “Wait…is that the cologne I gave you?”

Spike blushed, nodded to the ref, and offered his hand to the spellbreaker in red. “Of course,” he said. "It's my favorite."

She eyed his friendly gesture, smirked, and took it, letting him pull her up onto her feet. The crowd “awwwed.” 

Somewhere in a private booth, Colt the Bolt leaned back, took a sip of his whisky, and said, “Now them’s good ratings. Well done, kids. You made dad proud.”

At they exited the ring together, Rosa scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. She leaned into Spike. “For a second there, I thought you might…y’know…sit on on my face for the pin. Like you usually do?”

“Nah,” Spike said, ducking through the ropes. He let her help him down to the ground. “I’m a gentleman when it comes to broads.”

“Oh…haha...right! I’m kinda disappointed…” 

The two spellbreakers retreated backstage. Attendants handed them paper cups of water, as well as towels. Both Spike and Rosa were very gracious.

Spike took a seat on a chair, trying not to let exhaustion show on his face, and eyed the muscular luchador stretching not far to his right. “Sorry if I was a bit rough back there,” he said, laughing.

“Rough! Chico, I just made you bleed from at least sixteen parts of your body! Don’t apologize.” She slapped him playfully on his meaty thigh. “Besides, I already got my Bronze. Now you got yours! You made me one proud mama.”

“That’s right!” Spike shouted, bolting up from his chair, knocking it back to the floor. His eyes gleamed. “That means I’m not a rookie anymore!” He turned to the luchador in the green mask, who awkwardly gave him a thumbs up in response. 

“Psss. Do you know that guy?” Spike asked Rosa.

She rolled her eyes. “Spike, it’s not like I know every luchador just because of my family.” She paused. “But his name is Super Lizard. My cousin trained with him. Miserably straight. Sorry.”

“Ah, see, this is why you’re my wing woman!”

“And your ring woman,” she winked. Her attention shifted to somewhere behind Spike. It was only perceptible because he knew her, but Rosa’s eyes lit up with a subtle glint. “And speaking of hunks…”

Buck Tamberly, dressed in his usual ‘baseball cap couture” as Rosa called it, came dashing over. “You guys! That was amazing!” He removed his cap and ran a hand through his ‘boyband’ haircut, the ‘wave’ of slightly longer hair that always fell across his brow. Spike warmly referred to as his ‘fwoop’. 

Buck turned on his father’s charm. “It was also very, very hot. If anything, I’m the real winner tonight.” He glanced wolfishly at his would-be-girlfriend. “So about those vines, babe.”

“Not tonight, guapo.” Rosa patted her belly. “I’m starving. Sailor Kid here gave me a workout.”

Spike blushed, despite every effort to remain cool and collected. Beyond the victory—which was amazing, of course—he found himself far more content with the aftermath. Hanging backstage with Buck, Rosa, and the other guys had become his favorite part beyond the actual spellbreaking. He’d experienced moments of comradery in the Navy before, here or there, but always under the guise of a grunt. A few months into fighting alongside the GSA, Spike almost forgot what it was like to be lonely. He’d tried forging makeshift families for most of his life. This one, made up of colorful weirdos and fellow himbos, was starting to look like the most promising one yet.

Now, to make them all proud.

As Spike got up to go and hit the showers—maybe that hot luchador would be there—Buck tapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, by the way, S-man. Check out the cafeteria tomorrow.” His sly smile could barely contain his excitement. Vague as he was. “I haven’t forgotten our gala conversation…”

Quick Match: Sumo Lessons

"Looks like you got a package, roomie."

Sauntering into their cramped dorm room, a very sweaty Spike--dressed in a crop top and lycra shorts (leg day, naturally)--gently plopped the taped-up package down next to his roommate. Kengo, looking very cozy in his light blue bathrobe, was currently splayed out on the bed, reading a graphic novel--he was the very picture of comfort. 

The gentle-hearted, very large man yawned, placed his book down and glanced over at the package. "Hmm...this is..." His eyes grew larger. "Ah!"

Spike grinned, nodding enthusiastically. "All the labels are in Japanese so I figured it had to be yours. You know, since you're the only guy at the school who speaks it, I just kinda assumed..." Spike paused and tapped the side of his head. "You know, I seem to be fetching a lot of people's mail lately. Huh..."

"Yes," Kengo said enthusiastically, pointing to the set of kanji. "This is my name! It's from my mother! Oh, this is exciting!"

"Well, open it up, big guy!"

Kengo set about the painful and delicate process of opening the tapped up parcel, while Spike stood on tip-toes, whistling a tune, secretly hoping Kengo's family and friends back at the temple had snuck in a little treat for him. Spike knew Kengo wrote to them often, and always had lovely things to say about this roommate. 

Still, he didn't want to seem too greedy or singular focused. "So...whatcha' readin', buddy?" Spike said, in his fey Brooklyn lilt. And why does it take you so damn long to open up a fuckin' box, huh?

"Oh! Purple Rain of the Detective Gato. It's the 208th book in a mystery series about a teenage detective who turns into a cat when it rains." Kengo smiled. "It's been running for thirty years and the story is nowhere close to complete. It's great!"

"Sounds...like a real page turner, buddy."

At last, Kengo tore open the box. However, the sumo was methodical and precise, and so he first took out the greeting care lying on top. To Spike, it seemed like a rather drawn out and ceremonial process. Aw, C'mon, Kuma...Just tell me if your mom sent those fish-shaped waffle things with the jam inside them...

The sumo's eyes went misty. He wiped away a tear from his handsome face. "They are so proud of me and my spellbreaking. I don't know what to say."

"Aww, that's great," Spike said, patting his roommate on the shoulder--but really peeking over it to see what treats awaited him. He noted the beautiful, opaque, pink bottle. "Oh, that looks delicious and alcoholic now, don't it?"

Kengo had been so preoccupied with his mother's heartfelt writing, that he hadn't even noticed the present. "OH! Junmai-shu!"

"Bless you," Spike said.

"No, you himbo, it's sake!"

Spike's eyes went heart shaped. "I-I love sake."

"Then we gotta drink it!" Kengo said. He took out the bottle and gasped, picking up the delicate little sake cups, etched with jasmine blossoms. "Look! She sent two cups along too. Awww, and they're so cute." He continued reading the note. "One for you, and one for your pretty roommate!"

Spike could have swooned--this really was the best gift, alcohol and 'well-wishes' from a hot guy's mother. "Minami Oyama, you absolute angel. I'm seriously blushing."

It didn't take either Kengo or Spike long before the two roommates--beefy sumo and statuesque (yet short) twunk were sitting on the ground, clinking sake cups together in celebration.

"'Kanpai' is what we say for 'cheers,'" Keno explained.

"Hell yeah, kanpai!" Spike cheered, throwing back the tangy rice wine.

"N--no you don't take it like a shot! You have to sip it!" Kengo sighed. There really was no helping the blonde prettyboy. He was very sweet, but he had the useless enthusiasm of a barely trained puppy (and probably the wits to match). As Kengo lamented his roommate's lack of self-control, he happened to glance over at the opened care package. In his excitement, he failed to notice the other item, wrapped in pink tissue paper. "Hmm?"

Kengo removed the wrapping and looked down at the silky piece of undergarment--a fundoshi, traditional Japanese underwear, not unlike the 'gear' Kengo wore during spellbreaking matches. This pair was super soft to the touch, white, and stitched with a blue anchor. Kengo read the note. "This is also for your roommate. You mentioned how great his a--" Kengo coughed, stopping himself.

Spike grinned wickedly, his face turned read from the sake rushing to his head. "What was that?"

Now it was Kengo who went beet-colored. "Um...I must have mistranslated that. My mom got you a fundoshi, just like the one I wear. But with your signature logo on it!" He passed the garment to his friend, as if he was bestowing a crown upon a king.

He might as well have done just that. Spike nearly spat out his drink, and he looked as if he might be moved to tears. "Y-you don't understand what the gift of skimpy underwear means to me. I'm...verklempt. I don't know what to say!" Spike nodded and bolted onto his feet, nearly tipping his half-drank cup over. With a swift motion, he removed his pants with the deftness and precision of someone accustomed to frequently taking them off in front of others.

Kengo choked on his sake, seeing his roommate in his skimpy pink, bulging briefs. "S-Spike! What have I told you! That gets me...it gets me too flustered when you do that."

"Then turn around, I gotta try these on now!"

Kengo didn't understand why, but he did as told. Not that he didn't want to sneak a peek. Oh no, we're both getting drunk too quickly...

"Wait wait WAIT--don't turn around yet. I need...to complete...the look. Yes...hmm...a top knot will do. Okay, turn around and feast your eyes."

Kengo did as told. He gasped. Needless to say, Spike filled out his fundoshi well. In the sense that it looked like he was hiding a whole orange in the pouch. He'd also grabbed a hair tie and pulled his ear-length hair into a very small, petit top knot. The sailor boy struck a silly pose--which somehow made him even sexier.

Kengo tried to compose himself. "Hmmm...I think we shall call you the 'Slutty Samurai'!"

Spike scowled, crossing his arms, and turning away from his roomie. "I admit, that was pretty quick of you, Kengo." Of course, the former pinup knew what he was doing, positioning himself so his beautiful, sculpted bubble butt was on full display, the string of his fundoshi swallowed whole beteen his cheeks. "Make it Sexy Samurai, and you have a deal."

He's...so hot, Kengo thought, trying to ignore the tightening in his boxer shorts. "You look like you are ready for some sumo!"

Spike nodded, and then a devious look bloomed in Spike's eyes. "Hmm. Let's do it, big guy! Team me some sumo lessons!"

"What!? Like, right now?" Though the thought had honestly crossed Kengo's mind. Seeing Spike in that tight, cute fundoshi--well, it had certainly gotten the beefy spellbreaker's attention. Alcohol tended to leave Kengo more uninhibited. This was dangerous territory. All he knew was that he could trust Spike. Because, just like a rambunctious puppy, he was a pure soul...even when he was humping your leg.

Spike jumped up, and Kengo watched as Spike's bulge and round pectorals bounced rhythmically in motion as he did. "Yeah! Let's do it, roomie! I got access to the practice ring. Buck gave me an extra set of keys."

"What!?" Kengo blinked. "How did you get that!"

Spike demurred, scratching his head. "Let's just say my mouth did the work. Don't ask too many questions, big guy." He then took a more dominant, challenging stance, extending his hands as if to get ready to grapple. "What do you say, handsome bear? Go put on your signature gear and meet me in the ring. Think you can take on Spike--the Sexy Samurai--in a sumo match?"

Oh, I love when he calls me handsome bear, Kengo thought, blushing. But he never backed down for a challenge, and honestly--he'd had a secret desire to utterly squash Spike for awhile. He would probably look really cute getting sat on...

Kengo stomped forward, drawing his shadow over Spike, who suddenly realized he may have stepped out of line. "Remember, roomie--I am the big bear," he said, glaring down at Spike hungrily, poking his roomies bulge--right on the anchor. "You are just a cub." He drew closer, making sure his belly jutted right into pretty Spike's perfect six pack. "And you'll be my cub before the night is over. So, let's do it. Let me show you how a sumo squashes a brat like you."

Kengo was surprise at how intimidating he sounded--those informal lessons from Cian were starting to pay off! Unfortunately, Spike only got more enticed by intimation. The sailor boy (or samurai boy right now) winked at Kengo, and flexed both of his biceps. "See these? I've lifted bigger than you, Kuma. Just call me the bear tamer, cuz you're goin' down--roomie or no!" He tugged at his fundoshi. "I feel more powerful in this."

Oh no! Kengo gulped. Spike was going to use his raw sexiness against him! It was on. The gauntlet was thrown. Now, it was time to rumble. Sorry, roomie--but I'm gonna need to crush you!

Spike stretched his arms, elbow nestled into the crook of his right arm, as he smiled from his side of the ring. "You ready to get trashed, big guy?"

It was just Spike and Kengo in the practice ring. Being a weeknight, most of the other crew were in bed at this hour. Kengo, at the opposite end of the ring, removed his bathrobe and tossed it to the side of the ring, giving Spike an eye-full of his broad backside, ornamental strings of his signature fundoshi hanging off his large butt.

"Wow, Kengo, you've definitely been eating healthy lately." Spike wasn't shy about giving his opponent's their fair share of compliments. Plus, he had a weakness for big men. "Say, aren't you really shy around nudity? Why wear something skimpy like that"

Kengo did a squat, and Spike reeled back at the size of his legs, how far the trained sumo could bend over and touch his toes. His legs were like wooden columns, unmoving. "Oh, the ring is the only place where I don't feel shy!" Kengo said, smiling innocently. "Which is why I don't mind this kind of gear. I feel like a big, beautiful boy when I'm crushing cute little twerps like you." He narrowed his eyes, the innocence vanishing. "Maybe it's just the sake talking...but the prettier they are, the more I enjoy putting all my weight on them and watching them struggle underneath me! Hehehe."

Spike felt his cock twitch. "W-wow. I didn't know that about you. Hey, who taught you the word, 'twerp'? You should stop hanging out with Cian jerk! He's a wannabe heel anyway."

"I'll show you that I can be a bit of a heel too!" Kengo said, striding closer. Spike thought he felt the canvas shake beneath every one of his footfall. Maybe this had been a mistake...  

Spike stared down at Kengo. How could a guy have that much muscle and gut at one time? He was like a giant!

Well, call me the giant killer, Spike thought, confidently. "Ok, so sumo wrestling..."

Kengo nodded. "Well, we aren't in the type of ring we'd need, but one way to win is to push the other guy out. We can just focus on a standard pinfall for this match, if that's okay with you. No spellbreaking, but you're welcome to use your glyph if you think it means standing a chance against me."

"Are you being shady, punk?" Spike balled up his fist and shook it in front of the smirking sumo's face. He seemed...unbothered. "I can lift two of you. Two! Once I drop anchor on your sweet, adorable face, it's over! I win!" 

Kengo laughed, and then slapped his rather large backside for emphasis. Sounded like a rock hitting hard cement. "Same to you. Ok, let's start. This is how sumo wrestlers start the match. It's called shiko." He pulled one leg up and slammed it down, then the other. "It's to drive away bad spirits. But don't worry, the only bad spirit here is Minoru." He laughed. "And he really wants me to smother you right now for challenging me. You need to be humbled, roomie!" He slammed down his other leg. The canvas shook.

Spike gulped, and then mirrored his pal, raising his wiry legs and doing the same. But this only elicited laughter from his partner. "W-what! I just did what you told me to do!"

"Hahaha. No, it's just...it's just cute." Kengo leaned over and put both knuckles to the mat. "So cute I could crush you. Get ready!"

But Spike had anticipated this and shot first. "You're going down, big guy," Spike said, going for a takedown. But it was like charging head on into an oncoming train. Kengo practically bulldozed poor Spike, pushing him into the ropes and knocking him off balance.

"And you're going for a ride!" Kengo laughed. He wrapped his hands around the length of Spike's arms and lifted him straight up into the arm for a throw.

Spike sailed through the air--fundoshi clinging on for dear life--and had just enough time to realize that perhaps sumo wrestling while tipsy was not a good idea. He landed on his back, his spine taking the brunt of the fall, and the cold canvas searing his exposed butt-cheeks.

Before Spike could come to his senses, he heard a heavy footstep behind his head, and had just enough time to shout, "Wh-" before nearly 300 pounds of beefy bear brought the weight of his legs down on Spike's poor midsection, knocking the wind right out of him.

Kengo reclined, keeping his roommate and friend trapped underneath his meaty thighs. "You wanted a lesson, right? Do you give up?"

"Hell no!" Spike squeaked, activating his glyph, transforming the blow into his raw power--enough to push Kengo's beefy legs right off him. "I'm...I'm too cute to lose! You think you're the only one who can weaponize their fantastic butt? I'm the king!" Spike leaned back and threw out his legs, getting onto his feet in an impressive, athletic recovery--enough to impress his heavier opponent. Then, he pivoted on his feet and hip checked Kengo. "Get a taste, bear!"

But the blow only bounced off Kengo's belly. The sumo laughed. "Such a naughty little cub," he smiled, before he grabbed Spike with both arms and brought him in tightly. "How about a hug for your roomie?"

Spike thought back to one of the drive-in B movies he'd caught with Buck, how one of the monsters was a giant anaconda that wrapped itself around the hero hunk to crush him. It was a bit like that. Kuma's bear hug was no joke! Spike felt all of his bones and organs start to compress. "Gugh....ughhh..."

"Hehehe. Would be a shame if you wet that cute fundoshi now, wouldn't it? But I don't want to defeat you like this. It would be too boring!" But Spike's struggle against Kuma had an unintended affect. The bear looked down, seeing Spike's bulge grinding against his own. It felt...well, not unpleasant. Kengo blushed. "Hey...hey don't do that!"

Face reddening, Spike looked up at his roommate. A lightbulb went off (a rare occurrence for the blond, himbo hunk) "Oh, that feel good don't it?" He smirked and gyrated his hips. "What's wrong...bear...cub got your tongue?"

Ahhh, it feels too good! Kengo felt himself getting hard. If his fundoshi burst off, it would be just like losing. He had to act fast! So, he stiffened his back and, like carrying a bag of flour, charged forward towards the nearest post. "Sorry, Spike!"

"What--" was all Spike before he found himself sandwiched, abruptly and violently, between nearly 270 pounds of sumo beef and the cold, hard turnbuckle. His vision flashed white, and the next thing Spike knew, he was on his back, hands splayed out over the ropes.

Kengo had him exactly where he wanted him now. "Think you have the deadliest butt in spellbreaking, do you?" he challenged, glaring. Now, he meant business.

"N-no, Kengo, maybe I spoke too soon!"

"You won't be speaking after this!" Kengo said, as he turned around, making sure Spike got a good look at his round backside, before he backed up and drove it straight into his roommate, like two boulders crushing a tiny insect.

"OOF!"

"You make a comfy seat," Kengo said. He made sure to put all his weight on his opponent's body, even grinding down to really drain the stamina out of his humiliated opponent. When at last he felt he was being too cruel, he let up, turned around, and smile down at his crumpled roommate. 

"...uggggh..."

"Heh. Now's the part where you get crushed, roomie."

Kengo was all too excited to finish Spike off, but he wondered if his poor opponent could take this much weight and force at once! Still, as he climbed to the second rope, he remembered how tough his roommate was.

"K-Kengo, wait!"

Kengo sneered. He was actually enjoying this! "Get ready to taste defeat from my 1,000 Spirit Shattering Drop!" He bounced up on the rope for good measure, gathering momentum. "Kuma, crush!"

"N-" 

Was all Spike got out before Kuma jumped up and delivered a devastating bonzai drop. The whole ring shook as sumo met hunk, squashing him utterly!

Poor Spike felt his bones buckled under the weight. He might as well have a refrigerater dropped on top of him! Thank goodness for his glyph. And thank goodness Kengo hadn't activated his. His 1,000 Spirit Shattering Drop, when fuelled by Kengo's spirit power, didn't just crush his victim's bodies, but their souls too, completely robbing them of the will to continue the match...if they had any air left in them that it is.

The force was too much, and Spike briefly blacked out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. It was a total knockout!

Kengo struck his signature 'victor's pose, folding his arms around his chest as he stared down at his helpless, crushed prey. "Don't need to ring the bell to know you're done," he said, glaring down at Spike, who was just starting to come to. "I am the superior bear! GRRRR!" He thought of stripping Spike's fundoshi off, just to hammer home the point and really humiliate him, but he just couldn't do that to his beloved roommate.

Besides, he was already fully turned on from the beatdown, and dominating his beautiful muscle-bound friend had only added to it. He looked down and noticed how hard he was!

Spike's eyes fluttered open. "K..." he said, before he realized he was still trapped under the weight. He shifted, his face contorting into anguish. "Gah...g-get off me! Come on, man!"

Kengo looked down. "Aww you look so cute...w-wait, Spike stop squirming around like that!" His cheeks started to burn. Spike's wiggling under his butt was just making him harder.

"G-get off me! Grrr..."

"N-no, don't growl like that! S-Spike. I'm embarrassed. And I get turned on my being embarrassed!" He gulped, feeling the strings of his fundoshi start to give, as his cock stiffened harder. He was rock hard now. "Oh NO!"

No sense in trying to hold it back now. Kego's fundoshi tore itself off his body, and a thick piece of bear meat eagerly greeted the open air, throbbing and leaking precum onto Spike, unable to wriggle his way free.

Spike briefly tore himself away from his struggle, and the fact that he was another few seconds away from passing out from the weight of Kengo on his chest. His eyes lit up in awe and arousal at his bear friend's thickness and girth. "What! K-Kengo, you're....you're huge!"

Kengo looked away. He couldn't dare move off Spike now, if he wanted to. Any vibrations would risk...expulsion. "D-don't say that, Spike, you'll get me-...NO! S-stop moving. Oh no, Spike, I'm gonna...I'M GONNA..."

Spike's look of awe turned to terror, as he tried desperately to struggle and push Kengo off. But it was like trying to free himself from being trapped under a house. He wasn't budging, and judging from the look on his face, he was two second away from bursting. This was bad.

"W-wait! Kengo, not the face. Not the face!" 

"I-I'm sorry, roomie--" Kengo winced, as the full force of his orgasm took hold, and he roared like a bear in heat. "GRRRRRR!!!!"

Hands free. A jet of hot, wet spunk dripped onto Spike's chin and face.

"ACK!" Spike said, opening his mouth just a bit too early. He winced, letting a rainfall of muscle-bear wet his face. This was a true defeat...

Sighing and heaving from ecstasy, a deeply shy Kengo finally sat up, hearing Spike's exhalations of relief. "I....I am tired."

Spike sighed, barely able to wipe the rivers of cum leaking off his face, and struggling to catch his breath on top of it. "...I'm...I'm covered in big bear. Towel please."

"Y-yes, of course! I'm so, so sorry!"

Spike felt a towel hit his chest, and he used it to wipe all that Kuma off. Wasn't the first time Spike had found himself in this predicament, and likely wouldn't be the last.

"Nah, it's all good." Spike sat up, wincing and gripping his sore torso. He would feel this in the morning for sure. "Ugh...I can barely move. You really squashed me."

"That's okay, roomie! I'll carry you back." With relative ease, Kengo dipped down and scooped Spike into his arms, carrying him out of the ring. "Kuma cuddles are the best medicine!"

Spike had to agree. "I'm lucky to have a big guy in my corner like you, handsome bear. Even if you do squish me from time to time."

Kengo smiled. "It's a small price to pay." But maybe a good idea to lay off the sake for awhile...