The Kiss of El Amante Intóxico! Part 1 - Love's Champion

“Oooh yes. Right there. Yes! Agh! T-that’s my spot.”

“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!

El Amante Intóxico

Artwork by All_Draw_Party

Given Name: Unknown (Goes by ‘Victor’ outside the ring)

Age: 34

Birthday: November 14th

Height: 6’3”

Weight: 260 Lbs

Country of Representation: Mexico

Fighting Style: Lucha Libre, Powerhouse 

Glyph: Sensia (Emotion Magick…in Amante’s case, ‘Love’ magick)

Power Finisher: Cupid’s Arrow

Submission Finishers: Dulces Sueños / Scorpion's Kiss

Favorite Foods: Strawberry ice cream. Hot Chocolate (with cinnamon and chili).

Likes: Scented candles, hot baths, long showers, indulgence, romance, dates, getting to know people, his family, resolving conflicts, stripping, dancing, masks, national pride, his friends, sex, protecting the innocent, wrestling gear, his lucky thong.

Dislikes: Hateful people, prudes, anger, conflict (outside of the ring), hangovers, hypocrites, people who harm women and children, war, gangs, racism, those who take advantage of others, bland food, wearing clothes. 

El Amante’s sensual moves WILL LEAVE YOU hot, sweaty, sore…and begging for more! GET Ready to find out that love hurts!

The mysterious and handsome “Warrior of Love”, a red-hot beefcake of a spellbreaker whose exotic dancing moves are just as potent as his wrestling techniques. Like most luchadors, Amante’s background remains a mystery to all but his closest confidants. What is known about this super stud is that El Amante comes from a lineage of luchador style spellbreakers. Outside of the ring, he prefers his friends to call him ‘Victor’--his middle name and the name of his father. El Amante is a tecnico, or babyface/face. He has a velvety, rough voice from years of smoking (he has since quit), which adds to his appeal.

Those who are closest to Victor know this heroic rise belays a tragic upbringing. Victor’s grandfather, Ángel Amatista, was the tag partner and dear friend of renowned spellbreaker, Calavera Escarlata. Both men passed down the art of spellbreaking to their students and sons, as well as their masks (believed to contain a fraction of their power and fighting spirit). Victor’s father was supposed to inherit Ángel’s mask/legacy. He turned rudo instead, becoming Saber Demonico, the right hand man of Colt 'The Bolt’s' sworn nemesis, Serpent. After Colt humbled him in defeat, Demonico fell in love with a beautiful curandera named Marisol, turned face, and eloped with his beloved. Still, he feared retribution from Serpent’s gang. The couple fled to the enchanted town of Guadalluvia, a place of eternal rain and a conclave for Water magi.  

One day, Demonico was killed in a suspicious accident, leaving Marisol a young widow. In the weeks following his tragic loss, a handsome drifter came into town on an unusually clear evening. Marisol fell madly in love with him, though he warned her that he could not stay, and that his presence would only bring her misfortune. Whatever happened between them, the stranger moved on. Marisol gave birth to Victor a few months later, claiming she knew she was pregnant shortly before her husband’s death. Victor’s mother raised him with the knowledge that his father was a heroic spellbreaker, like his grandfather, but lied and told Victor that his father’s matches were never filmed. She also made him swear never to join the sport, as it had ruined her life and her happiness.

Born with the glyph of Sensia, Victor ‘compelled affection’ from all around him, and so he was naturally protected by the villagers. However, the local priests–already suspicious of Marisol and her late husband–proclaimed Victor “the child of an unholy union”. They went so far as to employ a dark bruja to divine that Victor was not his father’s child, but the byproduct of his mother laying with an incubus. Victor and Marisol were both shunned, and Marisol took ill.

To pay for his mother’s medications, Victor found employment in a local gang, who used his gifts of emotional manipulation for criminal endeavors. They also revealed to him the truth of his father being a villain and a coward, shaking his trust in his family's legacy. Marisol passed away shortly thereafter, leaving Victor to the gang’s control. Before she died, however, she released Victor from his oath, telling him he should forge his own destiny.

After learning about the truth of his family from both Calavera Escarlata and Victor’s uncle (also a spellbreaker), Victor emancipated himself from the gang and left Guadalluvia to join his extended family–including his young cousin, Rosa–in Mexico City. He paid his way through spellbreaking school by working as an exotic dancer, using his talents for far less malicious ends. Many would-be-lovers and suitors tried courting Victor, but he turned them all down, knowing he would not be able to provide them the attention they deserved. After all, spellbreaking was his one, true love! 

Victor inherited his grandfather’s mask, already bearing the heart emblem. He embellished it with three ‘blood drops’: one symbolizing his father, one symbolizing his mother, and one symbolizing his grandfather. For his father’s memory, he combined the image of the sword piercing the heart for some of his gear designs. 

El Amante quickly rose through the ranks, becoming one of the GSA’s top performers. Though Victor believes in free love, he is partnered with Iggy Astro. They have an open relationship. Nowadays, Victor is happiest training younger fighters at the GSA while working as a bouncer at the local gay bar. He is saving up to start his own luchador style school back in Mexico.

Victor likes weaponizing his seduction and good looks, choosing the skimpiest gear possible to wear to the ring, strutting his stuff and stripping down to the lustful cheers of his audience. His love magick can be quite powerful! In fact, during one of his matches, his opponent accidentally pulled down Victor’s trunks, totally exposing him to the audience directly in front of him and causing...an unintentional 'huge pop' from the audience (fortunately, it was an 18+ show). Ever since, all matches featuring Victor come with an audience consent waiver…just in case. 

Naturally, Victor and Spike get along famously, with the older fighter trying to instil a sense of decorum and masculine seduction in the young (often tactless) upstart. Victor’s cousin and fellow Spellbreaker, Reina Rosa, writes her cousin off as a “clown”. That said, they share a close relationship, though have made a family pact never to tag team or face each other in the ring.

Victor never removes his mask (save for when he is showering), saying that if he did, his true face would be “too sexy” and would strike anybody unconscious to look upon it. His mastery over the glyph of emotions allows him to enchant his opponents into seduction, either distracting them or forcing them into submission simply by swooning. Every touch or hit from El Amante increases his opponent’s ‘intoxication’, slowly making them powerless and madly in love, draining them of their will to fight.

El Amante’s finishers capture his sensual style. Befitting a tecnico luchador of his caliber, his power finisher is a tope suicida variant called Cupid’s Arrow. After completely paralyzing his opponent, making them ‘lovedrunk’ and swaying helplessly in the ring, El Amante turns his 260, 6’3” beefcake body into a missile, crashing into them like a truck! Trickier opponents will find themselves caught up in his Scorpion's Kiss, a Scorpion/Sharpshooter variant that combines pain and pleasure for the ultimate surrender! He has an alternate front-facing submission he calls Dulces Sueños, a reverse nelson into a kiss-of-death sleeper. He enjoys whispering sweet nothings into his opponents as they slowly fade away into his arms. Supposedly, all of his opponents who get KO’d by him experience an intense wet dream. Nevertheless, Victor is a consummate gentleman. He has embarrassed his Fed many times by refusing to get out of the ring until he’s sure his opponent is safely awake, often massaging their shoulders and giving them a “good morning” kiss to bring them back to life. Oddly enough, no opponent has ever said a bad word about El Amante…

Despite his amorous nature, Victor does not often mix ‘work’ and ‘play’, preferring dating and hookups outside the federation (...most of the time). Though he firmly believes in making a name for himself in spellbreaking, he has expressed interest in becoming a psychologist or child psychologist upon retirement. At that point though, he would no longer wear the mask.

Though his purple 'Bleeding Heart' mask is most precious to El Amante, he favors a variety of masks and matching gear. In universe, this mask was designed by Buck Tamberly and fabricated by Reina Rosa for Victor's 33rd birthday. This unique gear illustration was created by @Texas_Tiger

El Amante likes to generously offer a rose to his opponents at the start of a match. How hard he beats you down is dependent on your reaction! One would be wise to accept it with gratitude...

El Amante's cousin and fellow spellbreaker, Reina Rosa, designed most of his gear. This is a concept illustration from her sketchbook, with the caption: "'Prickly Love''. The mask and costume is based on the acuña cactus--or Butterfly Cactus. The cactus flower, in the language of flowers, symbolizes lust/physical attraction that withstands harsh environments In addition, it attracts monarch butterflies. The cactus flower, in the language of flowers, symbolizes lust and physical attraction that withstands harsh environments.""

Battle Quotes: 

*Dances* I am the venom... *strips off pants*  ...for which there is no antidote!

If you’ve come here to win, then prepare for heartbreak.

¡Me excitas mucho!

Lo siento, mi amor, love sometimes hurts.

Love conquers all! *tosses rose onto his opponent* You can touch my muscles as long as you want now. 

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…”