Infinity Smashed: Wrestling
Nov. 20th, 2024 02:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeWrestling
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Bob has a thing for women throwing him around, and Grey was a wrestler in high school. It's all fun and games until someone safewords. NSFW.
Word Count: 1029
Notes: This was the poll winner for this month, and let me tell you, in these upcoming bullshit political times, it waters my heartflowers to know that the winner was my trans queer kink bodice-ripper. Bless you. If you want to support my work and help me keep uploading stuff, hit me up on LiberaPay or Patreon.
Bob’s apartment is full of tchotchkes—math Olympics trophies, fanzines, ham radio parts. Grey, though, took nothing personal when she left but her copy of Leaves of Grass and a few things inside. When Bob asks for childhood photos of her, she pulls them from between the pages.
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Bob has a thing for women throwing him around, and Grey was a wrestler in high school. It's all fun and games until someone safewords. NSFW.
Word Count: 1029
Notes: This was the poll winner for this month, and let me tell you, in these upcoming bullshit political times, it waters my heartflowers to know that the winner was my trans queer kink bodice-ripper. Bless you. If you want to support my work and help me keep uploading stuff, hit me up on LiberaPay or Patreon.
Bob’s apartment is full of tchotchkes—math Olympics trophies, fanzines, ham radio parts. Grey, though, took nothing personal when she left but her copy of Leaves of Grass and a few things inside. When Bob asks for childhood photos of her, she pulls them from between the pages.
The first is her prom photo: Vicky in her fluffy green dress, Grey in an ill-fitting rental suit. She’s stiff and unsmiling, but Vicky’s head is thrown back laughing. It’s how Grey likes to remember her.
“So this is her?” Bob says. “She’s cute. Any idea what she’s doing now?”
Grey shakes her head. A couple days later, Bob will tell her that according to the Internet, Vicky’s an aerospace engineer with the Sojourner probe people and it’ll brighten Grey’s day, but for now, Bob moves on.
The other is a newspaper clipping, yellow and brittle, local coverage of her high school wrestling team. The grainy photo of Grey during a match is the only one of herself that she likes.
“Oh wow, this is you?”
“Regionals,” she voices, then in SGSL: “won. Never happened again.”
“You look better in this one.”
Grey shrugs. She always feels more like herself in motion, and since she wasn’t aware of the camera, she didn’t tense up. Then she sees how Bob is eyeing the wrestling singlet and nudges him.
“Nothing. Just imagining.” Bob’s tone is distracted. He likes jocks, she knows, and women manhandling him.
She gets an idea. “Wrestled before?” she asks with voice.
“Ha! No.”
“Want to?”
Bob looks up, expression intent. “Hell yes.”
They clear a space on the living room floor. Grey’s joints aren’t what they used to be, but that’s fine; it’s not like this is intended to be real sport. Which is why they start with her arm around Bob’s waist; it’s not how they’re supposed to start a first match, but she knows how he’ll react. And sure enough…
“Wow,” Bob says. “And people think ballroom is gay.”
Grey chuckles. Ballroom dancing is almost compulsively heterosexual, with its strict roles of male lead and female follow; what it isn’t is macho. Wrestling, on the other hand, is (mostly) men rolling around together on the floor in leotards, and as an adult, Grey’s free to enjoy it. “Ready? Go.”
Within seconds, Grey is covered in rug burn, breathing hard, and has Bob pinned. Bob doesn’t mind, judging by his face and the way he’s panting.
“Goddamn,” he declares. “I am jealous.”
Grey lets him up, only to get tackled.
“Not legal,” she protests, but Bob pins her wrists to the carpet, slides his thigh between hers, and grins when Grey instinctively opens to it.
“I didn’t tap out.” His voice is dark and rough. “First one to come loses.”
Grey smiles, nods, and throws him off.
It takes a while. They both know Grey’s stronger and heavier, but this isn’t sport; it’s play, and if Bob wants to win through sheer force of personality, well, she likes letting him try. At one point, things get rowdy enough that they crash her into the coffee table and have to make sure that she’s unhurt. (She’s fine. Fantastic. She could do this all day.) They have to keep their clothes on, since the carpet isn’t the kind that’s good against sensitive parts.
It feels wonderful. Wrestling was the closest Grey could get to boys and have it be okay, and only as a boy who didn’t enjoy it too much. Now, though, enjoying is the whole point. She can revel in her body, be as forceful as she wants, knowing Bob loves it because she’s a girl doing it, and he trusts her. And having him all over her, rough and panting and sweaty and perfect—
They’re getting close. A delicious aching tension is building in her core; she keeps moving her hips even with nothing to rub against, and somewhere along the way both their shirts have gotten rucked up. Bob’s hard and has been for a while, and finally, Grey decides it’s time to end it. She twists, uses her legs to pin him down on his back, and pulls his dick out of his shorts.
And Bob blurts, “I love you!”
Grey freezes. She looks up, but Bob thrashes.
“Don’t you stop, you beautiful fucking—” Grey goes down on him. “Fuck!”
Bob always talks a lot during sex, but usually he manages to stay filthily coherent. This time though, he writhes against her grip and babbles end-of-the-world ecstasies: “love you, god, I fucking love you, my beautiful fucking girl, love you love you love you—” before coming. Grey licks him clean and pauses to catch her breath, because she is throbbing.
“Holy shit,” Bob breathes. “That was the most fun I’ve ever had losing.” He turns his head, sees the wetness on Grey’s shorts, and works an arm free to touch. “Looks like it was close, though…”
Grey gets up and walks away.
“Grace?”
“Don’t have to say it,” she voices.
Bob pauses. “You’ve said it to me.”
“Different.”
Bob sits up, adjusts his clothes. “Are you okay?”
Grey’s throat locks. She sits against the wall, hides her face, and taps out.
She hears Bob get up, fetch his glasses from the other room, come back. “Can I touch you?”
Grey nods without looking up.
Bob starts petting her back. He waits.
It’s one thing for her to love him, to say it to him. That’s fine, as it should be. But Bob isn’t supposed to love her back. It’s enough, his patience, his touch and his eyes, his cooking dinner and learning SGSL and giving her tomorrow after tomorrow, even though she knows how much he hates it here. He’s not supposed to say anything, not supposed to call her…
“Not a beautiful girl,” she says with her hands.
Bob’s voice is sad. “I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.”
Grey shakes her head. “I want it,” she signs. “That’s what hurts.”
Then she loses even SGSL, but Bob doesn’t push, get angry, or pull away when Grey starts to rock. He just sits with her, quietly loving her.
“So this is her?” Bob says. “She’s cute. Any idea what she’s doing now?”
Grey shakes her head. A couple days later, Bob will tell her that according to the Internet, Vicky’s an aerospace engineer with the Sojourner probe people and it’ll brighten Grey’s day, but for now, Bob moves on.
The other is a newspaper clipping, yellow and brittle, local coverage of her high school wrestling team. The grainy photo of Grey during a match is the only one of herself that she likes.
“Oh wow, this is you?”
“Regionals,” she voices, then in SGSL: “won. Never happened again.”
“You look better in this one.”
Grey shrugs. She always feels more like herself in motion, and since she wasn’t aware of the camera, she didn’t tense up. Then she sees how Bob is eyeing the wrestling singlet and nudges him.
“Nothing. Just imagining.” Bob’s tone is distracted. He likes jocks, she knows, and women manhandling him.
She gets an idea. “Wrestled before?” she asks with voice.
“Ha! No.”
“Want to?”
Bob looks up, expression intent. “Hell yes.”
They clear a space on the living room floor. Grey’s joints aren’t what they used to be, but that’s fine; it’s not like this is intended to be real sport. Which is why they start with her arm around Bob’s waist; it’s not how they’re supposed to start a first match, but she knows how he’ll react. And sure enough…
“Wow,” Bob says. “And people think ballroom is gay.”
Grey chuckles. Ballroom dancing is almost compulsively heterosexual, with its strict roles of male lead and female follow; what it isn’t is macho. Wrestling, on the other hand, is (mostly) men rolling around together on the floor in leotards, and as an adult, Grey’s free to enjoy it. “Ready? Go.”
Within seconds, Grey is covered in rug burn, breathing hard, and has Bob pinned. Bob doesn’t mind, judging by his face and the way he’s panting.
“Goddamn,” he declares. “I am jealous.”
Grey lets him up, only to get tackled.
“Not legal,” she protests, but Bob pins her wrists to the carpet, slides his thigh between hers, and grins when Grey instinctively opens to it.
“I didn’t tap out.” His voice is dark and rough. “First one to come loses.”
Grey smiles, nods, and throws him off.
It takes a while. They both know Grey’s stronger and heavier, but this isn’t sport; it’s play, and if Bob wants to win through sheer force of personality, well, she likes letting him try. At one point, things get rowdy enough that they crash her into the coffee table and have to make sure that she’s unhurt. (She’s fine. Fantastic. She could do this all day.) They have to keep their clothes on, since the carpet isn’t the kind that’s good against sensitive parts.
It feels wonderful. Wrestling was the closest Grey could get to boys and have it be okay, and only as a boy who didn’t enjoy it too much. Now, though, enjoying is the whole point. She can revel in her body, be as forceful as she wants, knowing Bob loves it because she’s a girl doing it, and he trusts her. And having him all over her, rough and panting and sweaty and perfect—
They’re getting close. A delicious aching tension is building in her core; she keeps moving her hips even with nothing to rub against, and somewhere along the way both their shirts have gotten rucked up. Bob’s hard and has been for a while, and finally, Grey decides it’s time to end it. She twists, uses her legs to pin him down on his back, and pulls his dick out of his shorts.
And Bob blurts, “I love you!”
Grey freezes. She looks up, but Bob thrashes.
“Don’t you stop, you beautiful fucking—” Grey goes down on him. “Fuck!”
Bob always talks a lot during sex, but usually he manages to stay filthily coherent. This time though, he writhes against her grip and babbles end-of-the-world ecstasies: “love you, god, I fucking love you, my beautiful fucking girl, love you love you love you—” before coming. Grey licks him clean and pauses to catch her breath, because she is throbbing.
“Holy shit,” Bob breathes. “That was the most fun I’ve ever had losing.” He turns his head, sees the wetness on Grey’s shorts, and works an arm free to touch. “Looks like it was close, though…”
Grey gets up and walks away.
“Grace?”
“Don’t have to say it,” she voices.
Bob pauses. “You’ve said it to me.”
“Different.”
Bob sits up, adjusts his clothes. “Are you okay?”
Grey’s throat locks. She sits against the wall, hides her face, and taps out.
She hears Bob get up, fetch his glasses from the other room, come back. “Can I touch you?”
Grey nods without looking up.
Bob starts petting her back. He waits.
It’s one thing for her to love him, to say it to him. That’s fine, as it should be. But Bob isn’t supposed to love her back. It’s enough, his patience, his touch and his eyes, his cooking dinner and learning SGSL and giving her tomorrow after tomorrow, even though she knows how much he hates it here. He’s not supposed to say anything, not supposed to call her…
“Not a beautiful girl,” she says with her hands.
Bob’s voice is sad. “I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.”
Grey shakes her head. “I want it,” she signs. “That’s what hurts.”
Then she loses even SGSL, but Bob doesn’t push, get angry, or pull away when Grey starts to rock. He just sits with her, quietly loving her.
