“So muscular. So tense. Relax. Papi’s got you.”
“Agh, it feels too good!”
“You need to keep your voice down!”
“Huh? But Viki, I love your post-match massages!”
Iggy Astro dropped their shoulders and leaned their head back into the masked man’s formidable chest. Backstage, and out of sight of staff or fellow spellbreakers, the hunky luchador in the violet mask played with their partner’s pink hair, alternating between shoulder massage and a flurry of soft neck kisses.
Each kiss that El Amante Intóxico inflicted upon his lover was like a poison needle, envenomating them with desire. Even Iggy, normally cool, composed, and always in charge, couldn’t help but melt in El Amante–or Victor’s–massive arms, letting him hold them closely, tightly. The two fighters–and lovers–tuned out the noisy crowd, lost in each other’s caresses.
“This electric green one is nice,” El Amante said, reaching around their lover’s waist and pawing at their bulging, star-printed trunks. Slow and sure, Victor grinded against Iggy’s beautiful butt, teasing him relentlessly, enjoying how hard he made the self-proclaimed rock-and-roll god. He knew Iggy fancied themselves as being vicious and undefeatable, so it was always a treat making them moan and beg.
Plus, with El Amante’s massive biceps wrapped around the pink-haired hunk, the cocky rocker wasn’t going anywhere!
Not that he’d ever want to. Iggy looked up into the soft, handsome eyes behind the mask, and gave his lover a kiss on the lips. He didn’t care if anybody saw them. Nobody was going to say anything rude to the two buffest, technical spellbreakers at the show tonight.
“Thank you, handsome,” Iggy said. They patted their lover’s arms, signaling it was time to let go. Iggy was one of the rare few who knew when to draw the line, cutting themselves off from Amante’s drug-like love spell.
“What thong are you wearing today?” They turned around and hooked their finger around El Amante’s purple trunks.
The sexy luchador struck a pose, arms behind his beck, and thrusted his lover’s curious hands away before he could steal a peek. Still, he teased them by lifting up a thin strap of their red g-string.
“The lucky one you gave me, of course.” He kissed the air, deciding he’d let the straps show off around his waist as a little taste for the autograph session later.
El Amante, who had already won his match for the night, was content to tease and flirt with his favorite person in the world until the show was over and the other spellbreakers congregated backstage. The sensual and sensational luchador always made sure to shake everyone’s hand post-show, give them a little chat, do a little flirting, buy them shots, and genuinely make them feel appreciated.
All to Iggy’s annoyance. The cool-headed and cocky heel had a “reputation”. Of course, even a single compliment would have him rolling over onto his back, and he always had time to indulge his fans. El Amante found their partnership with Iggy a a clever twist of irony. Iggy was much more the extroverted one…in his own time.
But, for Amante, life was a series of mask–literal or no.
A moan–and not the sexy kind–alerted El Amante to someone coming up behind him. He turned around, his glorious mane of stringy, dark hair gliding along with him, towards the sound. Two stage managers in black shirts helped along a young, attractive man in blue, wing-patterned trunks. He looked badly beaten, bloody, bruised, and obviously needed assistance walking.
“Icarus?” El Amante said. He almost didn’t recognize him! Icarus had long, blonde, curly hair. Or he did, anyway, when he’d last stepped into the ring a few minutes ago. Now, it seemed, he’d been given a somewhat lopsided buzzcut–complete with dried bloody nick marks. Looked like it had been against his will.
The staff gently sat poor Icarus down on a milk crate. He winced, clutching his throbbing back. “Agghhh…” He looked up at his trainer and hero, with sad, watery eyes. “El Amante. I am so sorry. I…lost.”
El Amante gasped! He was on his knees in an instant, at his trainee’s side, ready to provide him whatever succor he needed. Iggy rolled his eyes. As a ‘villain’, Iggy was perpetually bemused by his boyfriend’s ‘good guy’ demeanor. He’d once suplexed a whole vending machine after it refused to dispense a cola for Iggy on one of their beach trips. Out of honor! He’d said at the time. Iggy had nearly died from embarrassment. Unfortunately, Victor’s chivalry was no gimmick, but obnoxiously sincere.
“Cariño!” El Amante said, taking his apprentice’s hands inside his own, gently rubbing his thumbs across the back of the younger fighter’s hands. “What happened to your beautiful hair.”
The high-flying fighter let out a disgraced sob. “El…Peluquero.”
El Amante’s eyes flickered violet-white. “That bastard!”
It was all a side-effect of El Amante’s magick, but a hallucination of pink rose petals fell from the aether onto the backstage area, vanishing like snowfall as soon as they touched concrete. El Amante’s magick was activated.
“Oh no,” Iggy mumbled under his breath, feeling a lot less ‘heelish’ from the radius of his lover’s power. Victor’s magick tended to dispel negative emotions…sadly, sadism, one of Iggy’s favorite, was included on that list.
But it wasn’t the magick that bothered Iggy. Not exactly. “I know that look in your eyes, Viki.”
Victor threw a violet-white glance in his lover’s direction. An admonition. “HRM!?”
Iggy’s spine straighted up. If there was one effective weapon against a Heel, it was an even stronger Face. With no other recourse than to humor his heroic lover, Iggy sighed sighed and gestured to the broken boy sitting between them.
“I mean…Oh noOoOoOoO, not the poor twink!” He leaned in and grinned at the distraught spellbreaker. “C’mon, tell me, querido, Did he hurt you bad? Spare no sexy–I mean sadistic–I mean gory detail.”
Victor pushed him away. “Not the time, mi amor.”
“Feh! Easy for you to say.” Iggy crossed his arms and pouted.
Icarus tried regaining his composure. But every time he touched his hands to his now near-naked head, he broke down again. “Teacher. I…have failed you.”
“Say nothing more of failure!” El Amante said, leaning in closer, making sure his trainee could smell his deodorant (and pheromones). He thew his arms around his young trainee, pulling him into a massive ‘pec-tacular’ hug. “You have fallen, Icarus, but your wings have not yet been clipped!” He let go, not wanting to imbue Icarus with sensory overload. There was a delicate balance to emotional magick.
Icarus, now starry eyed, looked upon his hero with affection and adoration. El Amante’s magick had already begun taking effect–by touch, of course. A cocktail of endorphins and serotonin bloomed inside the defeated spellbreaker’s brain, chasing away any negative feelings.
It was genuine too. Half of El Amante’s magick lay in his words, and the rest was the recipient’s own thinking. As long as they had a seed of a positive emotion or thought, Victor could nurture it and make it grow, blossom into pure bliss.
“Your hair will grow back,” El Amante said, giving his apprentice a heart-warming smile. He reached out and wiped a tear from Icarus’ face, stroking his cheek tenderly. “As will your resolve.” He winked. “Plus, I think you look very cute with a buzz cut.”
Icarus was smitten. “R-really?”
“No evil could ever hope to disfigure such a beautiful face!” El Amante landed his ‘finishing move’ in this situation, which was to lean in and give his friend a gentle–but potent–kiss on the cheek.
It was like a hit of Ecstasy. Icarus leaned back and looked as if he’d won three matches in a row, rather than lost one (and his hair!). “Oh…Amante…” He sighed with rapture. He noticed the sudden shift in his mood. “Hey…I think…I feel better!?”
El Amante stood, towering over his trainee, and struck his own chest with his fist (sounded like hitting solid rock). “That is the power of compassion!” An explosion of illusory rose petals once again showered the El Amante faithful.
Iggy was less than compelled, however. He scowled at Icarus with contempt. “You make a move on my man, you basic twink, and I’ll do worse than that barbaric barber did.” He cracked his knuckles. “Got that?”
Without looking in his direction, El Amante held up a firm hand. “Mi amor? Enough.”
That’s all it took. Iggy cooly played off his submissiveness. “Heh…I’m just teasing!” He grumbled under his breath in frustrated Portuguese. “Minha deusa, ele é tão sério...”
El Amante glared out in the space between the parted curtain, specifically at the ring. His fists tightened into balls, his biceps and pectorals bulging with raw fury and passion. “Stay here, beautifuls.” He nodded heroically to both his friend and his lover, before jamming a thumb into his chest for emphasis. “The Warrior of Love shall enact vengeance!!!”
“WHAT?” Icarus gasped.
Iggy slapped his hand against his own forehead. “No, Viki, don’t…”
But there was no use holding back the tempest of temptation! The luchador threw back the curtains–dramatically, of course–and raced down the aisle. To a huge crowd pop, at that!
Bewildered–and still in pain–Icarus looked towards Iggy for direction. “What’s he doing?”
“Being an idiot,” he snigged. “Playing hero. Same thing.” Iggy stuck out his tongue in disgust. “Ugh. Typical Scorpio male behavior. Can’t stand a slight! Always thinking they’re the romantic hero.” They pointed to his shoulder, the location of Victor’s scorpion tattoo.
Now, Icarus realized he was back here alone with a new threat. He smiled charmingly at Iggy. “I’m safe back here with you…right?”
“Meh. I don’t play with other heel’s leftovers, so…unfortunately, yes.” The pink-haired hunk handed the injured trainee a bottle of water. “Here. Hydrate.”
“Oh, thanks!” Icarus took a sip and then splashed his forehead with the cool contents, letting it wash over his face and run down his neck.
Iggy stared at him like a piece of meat. “Mmmm. Viki is right. You are adorable…”
Meanwhile, out in the auditorium, the crowd roared at El Amante’s sudden and unexpected entrance.
“What’s this!” the tuxedoed announcer barked into the microphone. “It’s…it’s El Amante Intóxico, storming to the ring! Is he here to avenge his pupil!?”
The attractive luchador pounced into the ring like a lion on the prowl. He didn’t even bother striking a pose for the audience–he was serious now. Still, he couldn’t help but give the ref a cute wink and a kiss.
The (admittedly handsome) young ref tugged on his collar. “Um…I’ll allow it.”
El Peluquero, a tan, beefy heel with black tights and an attractive port-belly, tossed back his curly black hair and laughed. He threw locks of poor Icarus’ blonde, curly hair around the ring, strutting around the piles of hair like a juvenile frolicking through snow.
“Hahaha!” The wicked bastard licked his lips, gliding his tongue over his goatee and beard. “Look at all the jobber confetti! This is what happens when you challenge me!” He held his scissors in the air and snapped them maniacally.
El Amante glared daggers at the villain, waiting for him to notice his glorious presence. Normally well composed, Victor now radiated a cold, wrathful aura, his broad shoulders hunched and arms out his side. He looked like a beautiful spirit of vengeance ready to drag this evil-doer down to hell! And, according to some oft-whispered rumors, allegedly El Amante possessed demonic blood indeed…
The Warrior of Love pointed an accusatory finger at his foe. “Hair as beautiful as a fallen angel’s is unworthy in a wicked devil’s hands!”
Peluquero tossed his last handful of hair into the air, letting it fall around him like golden dust. He sneered at this interloper who dared step foot in his ring, brandishing his pair of shears in his direction. “Who ya’ calling devil, prettyboy!?”
“El Amante is!” the hero snarled. He puffed out his enormous chest (someone out in the audience let out a small, aroused gasp) and crossed his arms, one of his favorite poses–and there were many good ones to choose from. “Iiiii am El Amante Intoxico! The Warrior of Love!”
The crowd–men and women alike–cheered.
Peluquero curled his lips into a snarl. He spat a wad of saliva onto the canvas–right onto Icarus’ clippings–and ground them beneath his bootheel. “Warrior? You look more like a two-bit stripper to me!”
“Venomous words from a wretched serpent. But I am a scorpion, and my venom is more potent.”
El Amante tapped his tattoo on his bulging shoulder, and gave the nearest camera a little bicep flex for the fun of it. The cameraman sighed and made sure their rig was well-positioned in front of their crotch.
“It’s time you got stung, villain!”
Somewhere out in the audience, a female voice cried out, “Sting me, papicito!”
“Heh!” El Amante turned in the direction of the admirer and blew her a kiss. “Maybe later.”
The hair-snatching heel laughed at this poser’s antics. “Hahaha! A challenge?” He took a fistful of his own curly locks and brushed them behind his shoulder. Again, he licked his lips. “Look at that delicious, long hair!” He sounded on the verge of arousal…something El Amante was perfectly used to when confronting an opponent, of course.
“I will take it from you. Let’s settle this man to man. A Hair-On-The-Line-Match! My luscious locks vr yours. Winner takes all!” He grinned with malice. “I might even snip-snip that mask off your face.”
The crowd gasped. This time, not out of arousal, but shock. Nobody insulted El Amante’s mask–handed down to him by his father and his grandfather–and lived without suffering injury or humiliation!
El Amante raised his head. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. Even Peluquero’s sneer faltered slightly at the withering, stone-cold serious look the luchador gave him.
The luchador’s voice was very soft. Very cold. It cut to the bone. “You’ve just made a grave mistake, mi amor.” He maintained his icy stare on Peluquero a moment longer, before El Amante changed tune and gestured lovingly to the crowd, beaming at them with a winner’s confidence. “You heard it here folks! You ready for this villain to taste the power of love!?”
The crowd was more than ready! El Amante didn’t need music to make a move, and he did a little two-step and dance for the delight of the crowd, all eyes on him–and not the villain. Phantom rose petals rained down from the ceiling, and the arena was swiftly enveloped in a soft, pink hue. Swiveling his lips and shaking his huge, muscle ass for the delight of his admirers, El Amante flicked his admirer’s one final kiss before he gracefully flipped over the top rope and landed with a gymnast’s precision on the floor below. He was happy to take the time to high five and cheek-kiss the crowd on either side of the aisle.
All the while, Peluquero glared from his position in the ring. “Your hair will be mine, chulo.”
El Amante threw back the curtain to the backstage, giving his lover and his apprentice a graceful bow. “Now that’s how you do it, guapos!” He spread his legs apart and flexed both of his biceps, making them bounce to the rhythm in his head. He did the same for his pecs, the sweat dripping off them onto the concrete.
Iggy–who had done a passable job ‘baby-sitting—leaned forward and sighed into their hands. “Noooo Viki, not your beautiful hair!”
“Is okay, mi amor.” El Amante laughed and placed his hand on his lover’s muscular back. “I did not bet my hair, but yours.”
Iggy brushed it away, annoyed. “Don’t be a minx!” He knew he was teasing. Unfortunately, even the light-wielding spellbreaker wasn’t immune to Victor’s charms. He cracked a smile. “Even if you were shaven bald, I would still find you the most handsomest man in the world.”
“Easy enough to say,” El Amante laughed. He took a water bottle from Icarus, whose mood had completely turned around. “You have never even seen my face!” He waved farewell to his ward and gently guided Iggy to the back hallway.
“I do not need to see your face to know you’re the most beautiful man on Earth, kitten.” Iggy gave their boyfriend a sly look and slid their finger down the crevasse of his enormous pecs. “Hmm. But if you win, do your favorite heel a favor.” He kissed him on the cheek. “Humiliate him for me.”
“What!?” El Amante laughed, shyly placing his hands behind his neck as the two fighters walked towards the lockers. “I am Technico! I would never stoop to ignorable deeds!”
“C’mon! It will be sexy.”
“Errr…” Victor sighed. “What did you have in mind, mi vida?”
Mischief and malice dancing across their eyes, Iggy leaned and whispered his devious plot into his boyfriend’s ear.
“Oh!” Even the master of seduction had to blushed at that suggestion. “Oh, but you are so naughty. Hmmm. Yes, that is kind of hot. I could do that!”
For Iggy, it was a win. He smiled. “I am rubbing off on you!”
Not about to let his partner get the better of him, El Amante turned the tables. Firmly–but still safely in control–he threw Iggy against the concrete wall, pinning his hands to it. Iggy, who never allow anybody to get a pin on him, allowed it–consenting with an ecstatic moan.
“Just you wait til after my match,” El Amante growled softly. He kissed the nape of their neck, all the while slowly grinding his bulge into Iggy’s. Side to side. Real slow. Real nice. “I’ll be rubbing off on you too,” he whispered, before nibbling his lover’s earlobe.
“You naughty kitten!” Iggy laughed. Stil, they couldn’t hide that they were turned on. Both of them were fully erect. Right here in the hallway. A little exhibition was always healthy for a relationship…
“I look forward to it,” Iggy growled right back. He stole a kiss, flirtatiously brief. “Nothing sexier than being taken and USED by a man after he’s made his conquest and emasculated another!” He moaned, pushing his hips right back, giving the masked man a taste of his own seduction. “Or perhaps I will do the taking, little hero.”
“Little! Ha!” El Amante pulled back. A male PA passed by, his eyes immediately going downward to the…whatever that was jutting out from Victor’s briefs. “Sometimes you do scare me. You are like the vicious psychopath without mercy or morals, who renders a man into nothing but ground up meat. You…frightened me!”
El Amante jumped back onto Iggy, unable to restrain himself any longer, pawing at his chest and kissing his neck and mouth. “Do it again, mi amor!!”
“Oh, Viki…there is no better meat than you! And I am from Brazil–I should know!” He would have allowed him to be taken and ravaged, but now was not the time. “Not here. Later.”
The anticipation was always the sweetest part. El Amante, for whom consent was the only king they bowed to, pulled themself off their beautiful lover. “I shall leave you wanting more…”
Iggy, who only acted this way in Victor’s presence, blushed. “You always do.”
Next Chapter!
