377 – Come On and Slam
Thrown off balance by the earthquake-struck arena, Calcine tried to line up a shot at Heatstroke. The flame-throwing Salazzle would crumble under a solid Smack Down if Calcine could just land one, and her palms itched for it. It was no good; Calcine couldn't control her trajectory off her feet, and Hustle was already moving to intercept.
The horse woman twisted midair with surprising agility, one thick leg snapping back before driving forward in a brutal spinning kick. Calcine barely managed to brace as Hustle's boot slammed into her stomach, the impact rattling her teeth. The sheer force of it launched Calcine higher into the air, her body flipping helplessly as she fought to regain control. The world spun wildly around Calcine, the faces of the crowd and lights above blurring into a dizzy carousel. Nauseating as it was, she wasn't giving up this easily; the fire inside her was roaring against the humiliation of being tossed like a toy. She let it out, Flame Charge blazing off her arms with great gouts of steam, and she used the pressure to right herself.
She would crash into the arena wall in a few seconds, but at least she could take stock before the inevitable happened.
Down below, Morgan had already blinked out of sight with a pop of Astonish, the Murkrow's trail of black feathers snaking through the cracks of the quake's aftermath. She reappeared a heartbeat later, crouched low with her wing arms flaring for balance, her sharp red eyes locked on Hustle.
Heatstroke wasn't going to pass up on Morgan's distraction; the Salazzle landed gracefully on all fours, licked her lips, and then blew out a coiling cloud of purple smoke into her hands. She hurled it like a foggy spear toward Morgan, leaving an arcing puffy trail of gas as it sliced through the air.
"Poison gas on your right!" Calcine called, and Morgan swept her wings right without even looking, calling on the start of a Hurricane with a quick snap. Wind howled through the tilted arena, catching the poison cloud and twisting it violently upward into the rafters before it could touch her. She rode the rising gust, turning with it to throw herself up towards the rafters.
Calcine hit the arena wall like a cannonball, the reinforced padding barely softening the blow. The breath whooshed from her lungs as cracks spiderwebbed out from where her body slammed. For a heartbeat, she hung there, pinned like a dart, her whole body trembling from the force.
Gritting her teeth, Calcine jammed her fingers into the fractured surface. The concrete behind the cracked padding shifted under her touch, and she shaped herself some handholds. She was hammered in good, but with a firm grip, Calcine hauled herself out, dropping to the arena floor with a grunt, boots scraping against the ruined ground as she struggled to push herself up.
Morgan was dodging bursts of flame from Heatstroke as she tried to dive on her, but the Salazzle's Flamethrower had enough spread. It was warding Morgan out; she needed help.
Calcine just had to get past a horse lady to give it.
Hustle had planted her boots wide as she stood in Calcine's way, brushing dust from the brim of her hat as she fixed Calcine with a steady, almost apologetic stare. She rolled her thick shoulders once, loose and easy, and grinned.
"Sorry, sugar," Hustle said, tipping her hat back with two fingers, "Heatstroke loves giving the ladies a show, and I always aim to please. You're mine for this tussle."
Calcine flexed her hands as she eyed Hustle up and down. It was hard not to appreciate her for a moment, how those thick muscles bunched under the golden-trimmed duster, how the dusty red tips of her braids framed a broad, strong chest. Hustle's solid, powerful look made Calcine's heart pump dangerously hot. She'd always loved running her hands over the lines of Brandy's muscles, and Hustle had even more definition to sink fingers into.
Horse ladies were already notorious for being fast runners. Hustle had far more heft to her than Mercury or Adrianna did. Calcine wouldn't outrun her, not even with a good burst of Flame Charge. She had to be smarter about this.
"I'm right here," Calcine said, spreading her arms. "Less talk, more hustle."
Calcine kept her stance loose, practically daring Hustle to barrel into her. If she could bait her in hard enough, Calcine could turn all that momentum against her.
Hustle wasn't too proud to pass up a free shot. The Mudsdale dug her boots into the cracked mat, a low white glow building around her like heat rising off sun-baked stone. With a snort, she dropped her hips low and burst forward, muscles bunching and rolling beneath her duster with every explosive stride. Her body was pure power in motion, a force of nature bearing down with thundering steps that tore trenches in the battered arena floor, kicking up shards of broken stone and dust in her wake.
No dodging this one. Calcine braced for the hit, gritting her teeth as the ground shuddered under Hustle's thundering charge. At the final heartbeat, she planted her boots firm and twisted into a tight, explosive Rapid Spin.
The sudden spin caught Hustle mid-slam, Calcine angling her momentum with brutal precision. Hustle's own force was yanked sideways, and with a roar, Calcine used the spin's torque to haul Hustle over her hip and slam her into the cracked arena floor with a bone-jarring crash. A dust cloud erupted upward from the impact, the whole arena shuddering from the redirected force.
Calcine staggered slightly out of the spin, boots skidding, but she stayed standing, chest heaving and adrenaline roaring in her ears as the crowd cheered madly. Hustle had just been bombed into the ground, but she was already standing up again like the impact had just been a love tap. Rather than present her back trying to help Morgan, Calcine dropped her weight onto Hustle, straddling her hips and driving her down into the battered ground with a heavy thud. She planted her hands on Hustle's broad, muscular sides for balance, their bodies pressed close together, both panting hard from the collision.
Heat radiated between them, muscle against muscle, and Calcine let herself stare. Hustle's lips were parted slightly, her chest heaving with each deep breath, the dust from the cracked ground clinging to the sheen of sweat on her flushed skin.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Calcine could feel Hustle's heartbeat pounding against her chest, strong and steady. Their faces were so close that Calcine could feel Hustle's breath, warm and ragged against her cheek. The thundering crowd was a distant rumble now, the world narrowing until there was nothing but the flush of heat between them.
"You're strong," Hustle panted. "Kind of like that."
Calcine's smile flickered, molten heat in her chest rising faster than she could contain. She shifted her grip on Hustle's hips, feeling the strength coiled under her palms, and leaned in close enough for their noses to almost brush. Flames burst over them briefly, a Flamethrower blast from Heatstroke, but Calcine just drank the heat up. There was an angry gasp behind her as Morgan got in with her claws, and then the fire turned back Morgan's way.
Interesting. Maybe Calcine could help Morgan in a different way here.
"Your girlfriend's scared you're losing," Calcine murmured to the woman pinned below her, "Shame you gave it your best."
"Nothing scares her; she just likes watching me on top." Hustle waggled her eyebrows. "Let me flip you, and I'll show you why."
Calcine tried to use Rock Tomb to spread stone over Hustle's wrists and pin her, but she just broke the stone with a burst of tremors and a derisive snort. Foolish really, Calcine wasn't going to stop a Ground Type with rock. Not unless it was alive and putting in the work. Calcine shifted her weight, pinning Hustle down a little harder.
"Tempting, but my girlfriends deserve a show too," Calcine murmured, her voice a husky rasp against Hustle's lips. "They're all going to love this."
Calcine leaned in, nipping lightly at Hustle's lower lip before whispering with a wicked smile, "I'm going to make you absolutely orgasm your brains out all over me. Heatstroke's going to watch. Let's see how much show she'll have left in her when she sees you paint my stomach white."
Beneath her, Hustle gave a shuddering breath, and Calcine felt a flex in the thick and hard cock pressed against her thigh. A flicker of surprise crossed Hustle's face, chased quickly by something darker and needier, the kind of look Calcine knew well, the way Brandy got when Calcine threw her weight around. Hustle's body strained into her hold, eager, almost pleading, all that raw power trembling beneath her like a dam about to break.
She rolled her hips slowly and deliberately against Hustle's, a teasing grind that made the bigger woman shudder beneath her. Calcine needed to put on a show that would sear itself into Heatstroke's mind and completely throw her off her game. Time to dig deep and show everyone how to really top a horse lady.