Domino vs Amy Poford- Let the Good Times Roll

Amy had never been beaten this bad before. Oh, she'd lost fights, plenty of them, but she'd always given as good as she'd got before she went down. While on some level she could appreciate the meticulous, almost artistic way that Domino was taking her apart, she couldn't help but think back to Daisuke, her first official AFW opponent, and how he'd claimed that she'd only beaten him because of beginner's luck. Maybe he'd been onto something.

She felt herself being dragged up, and she could do little but let it happen. Then, when her head and shoulders were crushed back into the mat by Domino's German suplex, her thoughts turned groggily this time to Drake's words back at the hospital, and she decided that he was right; she could have demolished a whole tray of tacos just then.

But Domino wasn't done. Amy groaned as he pulled her up again. "Ffffuck, dude..." Domino would find that she was leaning heavily into his arms and body, letting him do all the work in keeping her upright; she'd have fallen gratefully back to the mat if not for his support.

Domino rolls his body over hers to gather her up, and the moment he's upright again, he realizes he's more or less carrying her. And though a part of him insists on following through, a louder part is urging him to make sure he's not overdoing it. She kept saying she's a noob. She came out swinging, and even took a few good shots, but he might have overestimated how much she can handle. And his priority in this match (and every match, really) is to not seriously hurt anyone.

Belts are great. Titles are career-makers. But if it's built on broken bodies and busted spirits, there's no way he could feel good about it. Especially if it's on people he actually likes.

"Am I going too hard?," he asks. Though the words by themselves could be taken as a taunt, his sincere tone and soft delivery will hopefully convey otherwise. Those words weren't meant for the audience or the referee. Only Amy.

He's reasonably certain she can take the second suplex, so he yanks back again to drive her shoulders into the mat. And indeed, he rolls over her body again to stand with her. The audience, of course, is thrilled at the sight of a girl looking to be at someone's complete mercy, but the third and final suplex is aborted. Instead, he attempts to spin her around and hook his arms around her waist to bear her body into his, face to face, for the beginnings of a bearhug.

A light bearhug at first, it should be noted.

Amy’s consciousness was taking on water, but Domino’s words wormed their way in. They were teasing, but the voice that carried them was anxious. Amy had the energy to ponder whether or not she’d imagined the tone as she was lifted up and slammed into the mat again, but not much more than that.

When she was manipulated up again, she had the opportunity to look into Domino’s eyes, and she saw genuine concern there. Oh, I see. Amy might have been touched in other circumstances, but as things stood, all she could see was that Domino thought that he was beating her so bad that he felt sorry for her, and that annoyed her.

Amy laughed, though it was more of a wheeze than anything. Whether it was a taunt or worry, her answer would have been the same. “Go fuck yourself, Domino.” Big words coming from a girl limp in her opponent’s arms. Bigger still were the ones that came next. “We doing this?” Amy asked, referring to the bearhug that Domino had her set up for, her voice perhaps a twinge bitter. “Or are you gonna pussy out, Mr. Male Model?”

Her response is hard to figure out. Is Amy still acting tough? Is she mad at him? Women are confusing enough to start out with, they can't be throwing monkey wrenches into things like this!

Domino can only blink those purple eyes at her. "Yeah. Okay." He has enough control to not put her in the hospital, but that tone she used is disconcerting. Did he already mess up whatever it is they had going? Why can't women ever not get in your head, anyway? Friggin' womenfolk.

But as per her challenge, Domino's biceps tense, cinching the streamlined muscle around her waist. Her bare midsection is suddenly ground into his sleek abdominals, her breasts pressing into his chest. His head tilts forward to avoid any convenient headbutts, cheek to cheek with the blonde. His warm, labored breath washes against her ear. His back arches inwards to grind his midsection into hers a little tighter, though that has the side-effect of grinding his hips into her skirt as well.

Bearhugs in an inter-gender match are risque enough by themselves. This is a fact not lost on the audience.

Amy’s breath was driven out of her, and her already tortured body creaked as Domino’s arms ground it into his own torso. But the bearhug cleared her head of the fog from the suplexes, and she was back to being satisfied by Domino’s level of effort. She could handle being beat. Being pitied was not an experience that she cared for.  

The hold wasn’t bad, as far as bearhugs went. In fact, it was one of the better ones she’d been put through, particularly after the beating that she'd just had. But Army simply had Domino outmatched when it came to raw power, hands down. Then again, maybe with the right persuasion…

Amy put her arms lightly over Domino’s shoulders and her legs loosely around his waist, locking her ankles in preparation. Her breaths came in pained pants, but Amy turned her head to speak quietly into Domino’s ear. Her voice was breathless, dancing on the line that would qualify it as a whisper, but she made it was as even as she could make it under the circumstances to maximize cogency. “That all you got, hotshot? I’m not really feeling ‘future champ’ from what you’re giving me here. Maybe ‘future no. 1 contender,’ maybe. But definitely not “champ.’ Come on, Skip, show off a little. Impress a girl.” Then she squeezed her legs, drawing energy from god knew where, trying to goad some extra exertion from her opponent.

When the girl wraps her legs around him, Domino's confident she's up to something. But the pressure maintains on her. He has no intention of this being what ends the match, so he's not giving it his full strength. The idea is to only ensure the tricksy blonde doesn't pull something later. Sap enough of her strength now, and he won't have to worry about her getting all... how was it worded earlier? Squirrely.

What she whispers to him triggers something, though. Is she seriously goading him? At this point? Is she a masochist? It doesn't matter. She hit a nerve, taunting his potential. If she wanted things to get rougher, she said the right thing. His jaw firms and the arms suddenly clamp down against her lower back, no longer content to just weaken her; he wants her crying out. Rather than lean back, he starts to lean forward to add more strain to the hold, forcing her into a light backwards arch. And with her legs set around him, he's free to charge the turnbuckle and ram her spine into it.

Oh, he’s mad now, Domino’s mad. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure that this side of him had even existed. Up to now, he’d been a pretty nice guy- playful, cocky, the type that brought her flowers without asking. But alright, good. Angry opponents made mistakes, and mistakes could be exploited; plus they tended to hit harder, which she liked. She’d remember this for next time.

But this time, she was done. She only had a moment to enjoy Domino’s premium bearhug before she felt herself picking up speed. Even with her teeth grit and body braced, the crash into the turnbuckle shook her to her very core, rattling her brain and shooting white hot tendrils of pain up and down her spine, reigniting and compounding the abuse that her body had taken all throughout the match. Her eyes squinted for a moment before rolling back, then closing. Her legs slid neatly off of Domino's waist as her body gave a single, violent jerk. And then she was out, a ragdoll hanging limp and lifeless from Domino’s arms.

The ref signaled for the bell, and the crowd exploded.

Domino leans heavily into her, keeping her braced into the corner. He's ready to work her over more, to prove her wrong. Taking a title is the only thing that's mattered to his since coming out here. Knocking that was the verbal equivalent of throwing down a beehive and promptly tackling it.

He feels her legs slide back down and her body go limp. Well, maybe he can forego working her over a little more and just finish her off now. But...

*DING* *DING* *DING*

...no way. Seriously? She's out out? Dammit.

Domino frowns and immediately loosens his hold on her, only carefully holding her up now. He's panting. He's worked up. She pushed certain buttons that no one's stumbled on before, and probably to their benefit. And though he's won this, he can't say he's satisfied. The referee girl lifts one of his arms while he supports Amy in the other, his arm looping her around the waist and letting her prop on him.

"Dammit. Come on, Amy," he mutters. Once his hand is released, he adjusts her body to cradle her more comfortably. Much less strain on her back, held in damsel-fashion in his arms. The teen doesn't linger in the ring to gloat. He passes on playing to the audience in favor of simply ducking between the ropes to drop to the floor level. Once boots meet a solid surface, he begins carrying her backstage.

Halfway up the ramp, Amy came to. Her body was wracked with aches and pains, but she didn’t seem to be accumulating any new ones. Still, there was a body right up against hers, which meant one of a very limited list of things. She took an educated guess and groaned. “I got whupped.” She looked up and, yes, it was Domino carrying her backstage, like he would a princess, wearing an inscrutable sort of expression. “Put me down, Skip, I can walk.” Probably.

Domino pauses on the way up the ramp when she pipes up. Despite her colloquialism, his mood is still bitter. First she's scared he's going to put her back in the hospital. Then she's goading him to beat her harder. Throw insult into the mix, and you have some sour stew on your hands.

But when she insists on doing her own walking, he looks down at her face. Without further delay, he tips her over to set her feet to the ramp. "Suit yourself. Come on. Can't talk out here - too noisy." That and the audience is probably confused by what they're seeing anyway. That won't help his career.

The teen moves ahead with some hustle, pushing the curtains aside to enter the backstage area. One out of general eyesight, he turns to lean back against the wall, arms folding over his toned chest, waiting on her.