"Jacobs vs. Weaver (Fall
III)" by Antaeus NC
Copyright
Notice: These stories are copyrighted
and may not be reprinted, copied, distributed, or
altered without the express written consent of
the author. Thank you.
Jacobs rings the bell, and it
echoes from the rafters to the dark dressing
rooms of the old gym.
The wrestlers circle the
center of the ring, pause, and lock up.
Weaver quickly pulls
Jacobs into a side headlock.
"Ahhh," Jacobs
grunts. He puts his right arm around Weaver's
waist.
Weaver feels the heat of
Jacobs's hand on his naked flesh. He cinches the
headlock tighter, crushing Jacobs's head between
his forearm and bicep and chest. He bends at his
knees and rises slowly, grinding the headlock.
"Oohh," Jacobs
cries through gritted teeth. His right hand
spasm-grips Weaver's lovehandles, his left hand
rises into the air, pleading.
Weaver smiles and
cinches the hold tighter still.
Jacobs moves his right
hand to Weaver's right shoulder and presses his
left against Weaver's belly.
Weaver smiles again at
these pleading touches, cinches the headlock
tighter, and then flips Jacobs across his hip to
the mat, coming down hard on top of him and still
maintaining the hold.
"Uhh," Jacobs
grunts as part of his wind is lost.
Weaver lies with his
naked side against Jacobs's pecs. Again, with all
the weight of his torso on Jacobs's chest, he
grinds the headlock tighter. He leans in close
and can see the shining moisture in Jacobs's
eyes, the gleam of sweat popping out on his
forehead.
Jacobs grabs Weaver's
wrist and with a muffled grunt, pulls on it.
But Weaver holds on and
continues to squeeze.
"Ohhh," Jacobs
gasps. He puts his left hand to Weaver's chin and
pushes. He gets his right hand across Weaver's
bicep and pushes the chin with it too.
"Umph." The
sound escapes through Weaver's nose as Jacobs
pushes hard. Weaver begins to lose the powerful
leverage he had on the hold as his head goes
back. The headlock finally slips until his only
has it locked by the tips of his fingers.
Jacobs slides his sweaty
head out and rolls away.
Weaver rises to his
knees and slaps the mat with both hands. He
watches Jacobs get to his feet and shake his
head. He wipes the sweat from his face and stands
up too.
They lock up again, but
this time it is Jacobs who takes the quick hold,
slipping behind Weaver and applying a full
nelson.
"Aahh," Weaver
yells, his eyes slammed shut and his chin being
forced down onto his chest as Jacobs stretches
out his neck. "Damn!" he says through
gritted teeth.
Jacobs leans his chest
against Weaver's back, his forehead against
Weaver's left shoulder.
Weaver strains to pull
his arms down in an attempt to break the hold.
"Damn!" he
grunts again, still pulling against Jacobs's full
nelson. He feels Jacobs's laced fingers at the
back of his neck, feels them slip a fraction. He
pushes his hips forward and then thrusts his
naked rump backward into Jacobs's round belly.
Jacobs loses the hold
and backs away.
Both wrestlers are
sweating heavily in the midnight heat of the old
gym. Both are breathing hard, their bellies
ballooning and shrinking, ballooning and
shrinking.
They lock up again and
sweat flies in the amberwhite light. They feel
each other out, pushing and pulling, looking for
leverage. Jacobs's hands slip a little in the
sweat on Weaver's body, and Weaver yanks him back
into the side headlock.
"Nooo," Jacobs
moans as Weaver cinches the headlock tight.
"Not again."
But this time Jacobs
moves quickly to free himself from the vise-like
hold. He maneuvers his bent body in close to
Weaver's and drops his right hand to the outside
of Weaver's right thigh. Then he threads his left
hand between Weaver's legs. His hands lock on
Weaver's thigh, his left wrist is against
Weaver's dangling basket, his shoulder is pressed
against the top of Weaver's naked buttocks.
Weaver is leaning back,
working Jacobs's neck muscles when he feels his
bare feet leave the mat.
"Whaa?" he
gasps in surprise, just as Jacobs, with great
effort, continues to lift him and falls back in a
suplex.
"Ooohh,"
Weaver says as he squirms on the mat with his
hands to the back of his head.
Jacobs rolls quickly
back to his feet, slapping his pecs and waiting.
But waiting only for a moment.
Weaver rolls slowly to
his side and gets up to his knees.
Jacobs moves behind him,
and his fingers pinch deep into the muscles at
the meeting of Weaver's neck and shoulder.
"Aahhh,"
Weaver screams, his hands flying up in the air,
his face folding into a sweaty red grimace of
pain.
Jacobs lifts his face
toward the light, which shines on his sweat-wet
skin and his bared and gritted teeth. His biceps
and forearms bulge as he squeezes Weaver's
muscle, digging the hold deeper and pushing down
with the grip.
"Ohh," Weaver
groans. His hands clench and unclench in the air.
He is almost sobbing from the pain.
Jacobs stands over him
now, dominating. He shakes his head and the sweat
flies. He bears down hard with strength and
weight.
"Ahhhhh! Please,
Jacobs!" Weaver cries. His eyes open for a
second and then squeeze shut again. His hands are
clasped in the air in front of his face. In
supplication.
"Do you wanna give,
Weaver?" Jacobs says through the strain of
the pressure he is focusing on Weaver's shoulder.
"No!" Weaver
shouts and with an impulse of panic, rises to one
knee.
"Didn't think
so," Jacobs says and squeezes the hold
tighter, leaning even more of his weight into it
now that Weaver rising. Then he feels the first
sign of cramping in his fingers.
Weaver feels the weight
behind the hold increase, but he senses a
weakening in the hold itself. He pushes up
suddenly, almost standing, and plants his left
elbow in Jacobs's abs.
"Ooooff." The
sound explodes from Jacobs as he releases the
hold and backs away bent over. He rests his hands
on his thigh to recapture his wind and then
shakes the cramps out of his fingers.
Weaver rises to his
feet, his neck stinging, but he doesn't wait for
Jacobs. With Jacobs still bent over and trying to
catch his breath, Weaver moves in on him and
takes him in a front facelock. He feels the sweat
of Jacobs's head between his left arm and side.
He leans his belly over Jacobs's shoulders, still
holding the facelock and easing his weight down
onto Jacobs's broad back. He pulls the hold
tight.
"Aahh." Jacobs
drops to one knee, Weaver standing over him,
standing in front of him. Jacobs's neck aches as
the pain from the two previous headlocks returns.
He feels Weaver's weight still leaning heavily
down on his shoulder
Then suddenly the weight
is gone. The hold is gone. Weaver is gone.
Jacobs is on his knees
in the ring, blinking at the darkness beyond the
ropes. Then he sees the Weaver's left arm snaking
down the left side of his face, hooking his chin,
and then curling up the right side of his face.
He feels the powerful reverse chinlock being
cinched tight, feels Weaver's weight now from
behind.
"Uugh," he
grunts and his hands rise into the air, pleading.
Weaver leans into him,
cinching the chinlock tight and putting pressure
on Jacobs's back with his weight.
Jacobs reaches back and
grabs the nape of Weaver's neck with both hands.
Weaver tries to shake
him off.
Jacobs rises partway to
his feet, moves his hand to the back of Weaver's
head and forces Weaver's chin to the top of his
own head. He drops quickly to both knees, jarring
Weaver's jaw and teeth against his skull.
Weaver's howl of pain
sounds more like a gurgle as he clamps his hands
over his mouth and stumbles across the ring.
Jacobs stumbles forward
and then steadies himself on his feet.
Both wrestlers are tired
and weaving, soaked with sweat from hair to bare
feet, breathing hard. Weaver holds onto the
ropes, trying to shake the cobwebs from his head.
Jacobs stands a few feet away, rubbing his neck.
They eye each other for a moment then
simultaneously grin weakly and extend their right
hands and shake.
They circle, slowly and
warily, tiredly. Then they lock up and the sweat
flies in all directions as they jerk each other,
struggling for leverage.
Jacobs begins to reach
around Weaver's shoulder and moves in a bit too
close.
Weaver pulls him into
the third side headlock of the match.
"Nooo!" Jacobs
screams, his left hand to the side of his neck.
Weaver bends into the
hold, every moment cinching it tighter around
Jacobs's head.
Jacobs reaches both
hands around Weaver's waist and holds on tightly
against the pain in his neck and ears.
"Ahhhh,"
Jacobs yells and begins desperately to push
Weaver toward the ropes.
Weaver's side touches
the ropes. He feels Jacobs leaning heavily into
him, his breath lifting his shoulders up and
down. Weaver releases the hold and raises his
hands.
Jacobs straightens up
and slowly backs away.
But Weaver jumps,
returning to the headlock.
"Ahhh," Jacobs
cries, a whimper of frustration.
Weaver works the
headlock up and down on Jacobs's red ears.
Jacobs grabs Weaver's
wrists, twists his body, and pushes up into a top
wristlock.
"Ummppht,"
Weaver grunts, straining against his opponent and
friend. He spreads his legs for balance.
The wrestlers arms are
over their heads. Sweat pours into their eyes and
down their arms and armpits and sides. They are
almost face to face, their arms locked together,
muscle against muscle.
But after an attack made
up completely of various arm-oriented holds,
Weaver weakens first. Jacobs's strength forces
him to stumble back, but he awkwardly pulls
Jacobs with him into a clumsy arm drag.
Jacobs pulls against it,
but Weaver's weight is in free fall now, and he
goes over with him to the mat, flipping over
Weaver's hip and landing hard on the flat of his
back.
Weaver is quickly to his
feet. He grabs Jacobs's red ears and lifts him to
sitting.
"Unhh," Jacobs
mutters.
Weaver moves his right
hand to the top of Jacobs's head and his left
cups Jacobs's chin. He throws his right leg over
Jacobs's right shoulder and falls back into a
straight head scissors from behind.
"Aahhhh,"
Jacobs cries.
Weaver leans back on his
hands and cinches the scissors tight.
"Ooohh noooo,"
Jacobs yells through gritted teeth, his face
already reddening. He pulls frantically at the
knees squeezing his head.
Weaver plants his right
heel into Jacobs's fleshy belly, and, leaning
back on his hands, lifts his buttocks off the
mat. His jaw clamps shut, and he cinches the
scissors tighter.
"Uuhhhhh,"
Jacobs grunts. His hands fly off Weaver's knees
and into the air as Weaver cinches the scissors
again. "Ohhh, Weaver! Please!"
Weaver knows this will
eventually be it if he handles himself and his
opponent right. He looks down and sees his
erection blooming from behind Jacobs's head. He
feels Jacobs's short hair scratching at the
blood-tightened skin. His thighs tighten to
stone, and he breathes hard through clenched
teeth.
Jacobs grabs Weaver's
ankles and pulls as hard as he can, but his arms
are weak from trying to escape the headlocks,
from own his full nelson, suplex, and extended
nerve pinch.
Weaver's legs are
practically fresh, and the ankles do not budge.
Jacobs tries to roll
over.
"Uuughh." He
grunts with the effort.
Weaver feels the
pressure to roll with him, but he is desperate to
maintain this hold. He cinches the scissors
tighter yet.
"Ohhh, Weaver,
nooooo!" Jacobs wheezes.
Weaver thumps a heel
hard into Jacobs's heaving belly to stop his
attempt to roll. Again the scissors tightens.
Jacobs stamps his heels
repeatedly on the mat. He slaps Weaver's thighs
frantically.
His own erection jolts
from side to side.
Weaver leans back on his
right hand, and places his left hand on top of
Jacobs's sweaty head as more leverage to prevent
another attempt to roll--and for another reason.
Jacobs feels
light-headed, but he feels the hardness of
Weaver's basket at the back of his head.
Weaver squeezes again,
slowly and steadily building the pressure on
Jacobs's temples and jaws.
"Ooooohhhhhhhhhhh!"
Jacobs howls in a raspy voice.
With his fingers locked
in Jacobs's hair to hold his head in place,
Weaver gives one hard quick squeeze to the
straight head scissors to divert Jacobs's
attention while he makes the split- second switch
to a figure-4 head scissors.
"Please!"
Jacobs cries.
Weaver, breathing
heavily but otherwise silent, leans to his right
and begins bending his left leg, the hook leg,
back under him. The further he gets it under
himself, the greater the pressure with which his
right calf crushes into Jacobs's chin and jaw.
Jacobs knows he can't
take much more.
"Please,
Weaver," he sobs one last time.
Weaver leans to the
right again, moves his left hand from Jacobs's
head grabs his own left ankle, and draws his hook
leg even further back.
"Aaahhh!"
Jacobs cries out with his last ounce of energy.
His hands fly up in the air and shake. "I
give! Weaver, I give!"
Weaver untangles the
hold and falls back on the mat, exhausted.
Jacobs, his cheek turned
against the inside of Weaver's right thigh, grabs
his head.
"What a
headache," he says.
Both wrestlers lie there
under the ring light until the heavy breathing
has stopped and the sweat is dried and the
erections have subsided.
(c) 1995. Join WrestleMen.com. Over 5000
wrestlers, 1600 visitors a day!
|