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The gym is filled with heat tonight. High above the empty ring, the large old windows creak open at the squeaking turn of a crank on the wall.

Jacobs comes out of the darkness and climbs into the ring.

Weaver appears from the other side of the room and climbs into the opposite corner.

Both bodies already glisten with sweat.

"It's going to be a hot one," Weaver says.

"Lots of sweat," Jacobs says and smiles. "Are you ready?"

Weaver grins and nods. He turns into his corner and bends his knees, pulling on the ropes.

Jacobs leans between the ropes and clangs the old bell mounted on the side of the ring. Then he bounces to the center of the mat.

Weaver rises and turns and stalks out of his corner at the clanging and begins to circle, sees Jacobs moving to the center, and meets him there.

The two naked friends shake hands and grin with no hint of embarrassment over their pre-match erections.

A moment of suspension hangs in the air, and then they move forward toward the collar and elbow lockup.

But Jacobs deflects Weaver's left arm with his right forearm. He grapevine's the arm in his own and locks up an arm bar with his left thumb in Weaver's left armpit, the palm of his left hand curling over Weaver's left shoulder.

"Aaaaaaaaah," Weaver yells in pain. His brown eyes shine for a moment with surprise at Jacobs's speed. But then they disappear in a grimace, and his right hand closes and uncloses in the air, pleading.

Jacobs concentrates the force of his hold on Weaver's shoulder, squeezing his thumb into the hairy sweat-drenched armpit.

"Ooooowww," Weaver howls. His grimace deepens with the pain. "Please, Jacobs," he gasps.

Jacobs switches his focus to the arm now, pulling on it, but still gripping Weaver's shoulder and armpit tightly.

"Uuugghh." Weaver shakes his head against the pain, and sweat flies in the brassy pyramid of light descending from the dangling fixture above the center of the ring.

Jacobs feels the drops of sweat spatter his body. He purses his lips and squeezes his left hand harder into Weaver's shoulder and armpit.

"Mmmph," Weaver grunts. Still with his head down and shaking, he squares his body to Jacobs's and puts his right palm against Jacobs's chin and pushes. He can feel the sweaty stubble of Jacobs's beard in the hairless skin of his palm.

"Arrrgh," Jacobs says through gritted teeth as his head begins to give to the pressure of Weaver's right hand.

Weaver pushes Jacobs's head back. At the same time he flexes the fingers of his left hand, trying to restore the circulation Jacobs's arm bar has cut off. He feels the soft wet hair and the heat of Jacobs's armpit against his forearm. In his mind's eye he sees his hand sticking out behind Jacobs's back, watches his pale fingers opening and closing shakily.

With Jacobs's head pushed upright, Weaver forces him back toward the ropes. And just at the moment when he feels Jacobs plant his feet to push back, he plants his own feet and pulls the other way, using Jacobs's strength and weight against him.

Jacobs flips over Weaver's hip and lands on his bare butt in the center of the ring.

"Aaah," he says and presses the knuckles of his right hand against the small of his back.

Weaver stands up quickly, shaking his left arm and hand, feeling it tingle as the circulation returns.

Jacobs rolls up to his feet.

"Good hold," Weaver says between hard breaths.

"Thanks," Jacobs says, still pressing his hand to the small of his back. "Thought I'd let you have a little of your own medicine from the last match."

The two begin a wary counterclockwise circling.

Weaver thumbs the sweat from his eyebrows and slings it into the darkness beyond ringside.

Jacobs stops and reaches out his right hand, offering a test of strength.

Weaver starts to meet Jacobs's right hand with his left but is reminded of its weakness by the continuing tingle.

"No way," he says and smiles.

Suddenly Jacobs dives in and grabs Weaver around the waist, cinching in a tight bear hug.

"Uuuuhh," Weaver grunts as he feels Jacobs's chest crush against his. Both of his hands rise into the air. Again a pleading gesture.

Jacobs cinches the hug tighter.

"Aaaahhhh," Weaver screams. "Please!"

The two are locked together by Jacobs's powerful hold. Their sweaty chests and bellies heave into each other.

Weaver wraps both arms around Jacobs's head, seemingly trying to climb him like a tree in order to escape the painful pressure at his back.

"Uhhh," Jacobs grunts but maintains a tight hold.

Weaver's breath is coming in small gasped bursts. He unwraps his arms and leans back, pushing against Jacobs's chin with both hands.

"Aahhh," Jacobs says through gritted teeth as his neck is stretched back again.

The wrestlers' heads and upper torsos form a red and glistening Y. Their bellies still heave into each other, sliding on slick sweat. Their heat-loosened baskets and tense thighs are pressed tightly together.

"Ohhhh," Weaver moans. The pain in his back increases by the second. With a grimace, he raises himself on tiptoes to put more leverage against Jacobs's chin. "Aaahhhhhhh," he screams, partly in pain from his aching back, partly to spur himself on to escape Jacobs's crushing arms. He feels Jacobs's breath struggle through his fingers.

Jacobs suddenly lets go.

Weaver sinks to his knees, his hands on his thighs, his chest and belly heaving desperately.

Jacobs rolls his neck and steps quickly behind Weaver. He sinks to one knee, leans his chest into Weaver's sweaty back, and wraps his left arm around Weaver's jaw and chin, cinching the reverse chinlock with his hands clasped together just behind Weaver's right ear.

"Aahhhhh!" Weaver's eyes squeeze shut, and his hands fly up.

Jacobs holds Weaver's chin wedged in the crook of his left elbow. His powerful and hairy chest leans heavily on Weaver's back. He loosens the hold slightly and then cinches it even tighter, slamming his chest into Weaver's back so hard that sweat sprays out in all directions onto the mat.

Weaver feels the rough hair of Jacobs's massive chest grinding into the heated skin of his back. He feels Jacobs's bulging left bicep, rock-hard, pressing into the left side of his face and nearly forcing his left eye closed.

"Uffftt," he gasps. He slaps Jacobs's bicep with his right hand. Jacobs's weight on his weakened back makes him blink hard. "Oooohhh."

Jacobs leans into him heavily and tightens the reverse chinlock. Then he falls back to a sitting position, pulling Weaver with him, still in the chinlock. As Weaver settles roughly back between his thighs, Jacobs wraps his thick legs around Weaver's waist and squeezes.

"Noooooooooooooooo!" Weaver groans with what breath he can muster, and the ragged sound echoes through the dark gym.

Jacobs releases the reverse chinlock and wraps both arms around Weaver's chest. A reverse bear hug combined with a body scissors.

"Ooofff." Weaver feels the little breathing space left him above the vise-like body scissors being squeezed to next to nothing by Jacobs's powerful arms. He breaths hard but draws little air.

Jacobs holds Weaver with his legs and arms.

"Uuhh," Weaver whimpers. He tries to push down on Jacobs's knees but Jacobs's thick biceps wrapped through his armpits block him from getting his arms close enough to his body for a powerful push. He sinks into the hold and feels the definition of Jacobs's pecs against his back.

Jacobs sits solidly on his naked buttocks, holding Weaver, squeezing him, with sweat-sparkled arms and legs. Every few seconds he first cinches the scissors tighter, then the reverse bear hug. He feels Weaver's sweat-slicked lower back against his basket, the heat of Weaver's hold-reddened skin against his inner thighs. He smells the sweat on the back of Weaver's neck. He turns his head so that his lips almost touch Weaver's right ear.

"Come on, Weaver," he whispers. "You can't get out of this one, and I won't let you go."

Weaver's mouth is open, and he gulps at the stifling air of the gym in ragged breaths. His head is starting to swim. His eyes glaze over. Jacobs's whisper at his ear reaches his fading consciousness as if it were a sound from under water.

"Come on, Weaver," Jacobs whispers again, urgently this time. "I can feel you weaken. Don't make it go on for no reason."

"Okay," Weaver wheezes. "I give."

The wrestlers come untangled but not apart.

Jacobs releases his legs first and then his arms.

Weaver draws in a deep painful breath and lies back against Jacobs, breathing hard and wiping the sweat from his eyes.

Jacobs sits there, supporting his beaten opponent for a moment. Then he slides out from behind him, easing him down on his back, and sits beside him.

Outside, a late night summer rain begins to fall straight and steady through the amber lights of Cyber City.

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