What's Up, Doc? (For Gwyndolin)

"Remember that you asked for that..."

Drake smiles slyly and suddenly grabs for her shoulders to yank her up to her bare tootsies. Without turning her loose, he attempts to pull her in close to him while thrusting his right knee up, aiming to sink it into her stomach nice and deep. He intends to stun her, and keep her that way long enough to set her up - even if she intended to roll with it anyway!

Drake didn't beat around the bush, and started roughing her up as soon as his statement was finished. He pulled her up and dragged her close to him, thrusting his knee hard into her stomach. “Ooohf,” Irene gasped, doubling over from the hit. She turned her head up to look at him, bleary-eyed from the impact, wondering inquisitively what he was planning to do to her.

With her doubled over, Drake prepares to hoist her up - only to pause at that look she's giving him. Not because he's having second thoughts, but because he's drinking in that look from her. It's sexy somehow, like complete compliance at the end of a fight.

Then he's hoisting her body into the air in what may seem like deja vu for the dark-haired girl. Gripping her around the waist, Drake squeezes her midsection tight to his chest, her breasts against his sleek abdominals, and his hips against her face. Only this time, he slides a hand down to the back of her head to guide it into place. He's going to go through with the piledriver this time, it appears.

"Ready?"

The confidence exuded by Drake was exciting for Irene, playing on her submissive side and exhilarating her with anticipation for what would happen next. Still, the girl wasn't above defying Drake's sense of authority, and when he lifted her back into that piledriver position he'd had her in earlier, Irene didn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had her nervous. “Get on with it, pretty boy, or I'm gonna bite your bellend off!” the girl snarked, making an exaggerated chomping noise with her teeth to urge him along.

So crass, this scientist girl! But Drake smirks all the same. "Keep your mouth shut. You don't wanna get your jaw jacked up. And brace yourself." He'll wait long enough for her to tuck in, if she's going to, and carries on with his finisher.

The Total Eclipse is a piledriver, and those tend to be rather straight forward. What sets it apart is the display of athleticism that goes into it, beginning with a leap into the air. Drake's body tucks in tighter to Irene's, pulling forward into a single sharp flip. That increased momentum comes to an explosive end with Irene's head colliding with the wrestling mat beneath them.

Drake doesn't bother to let her body go at that impact. He simply drops forward with her to lie over her much in the way he had before; his hips pressing to her face, his abs against her breasts, his chest over her abdomen, and his face nuzzling into her hips unabashedly to mix in some pleasure with the pain.

At Drake's urging, Irene stops taunting him and tucks her head into his hips to protect her spinal cord from harm. Her head rubs against his shaft again, though this time she doesn't give him snark over it. She's being more serious than she was before, trying to put up a good fight until the end.

When her body travels down and collides head-first with the canvas, she is too stunned to cry out. The impact nails the back of her head and pushes it farther forward, putting unbearable strain on her neck and sending pain coursing down her back. She goes limp for awhile when she hits the ground, allowing Drake time to get into position. Even though his finisher is effective, however, Irene is a little bit insulted when he follows it up by stretching out over her in the same casual way that he did before. She isn't sure what's making her so frustrated, but the girl still feels feisty, and isn't ready to give up. Drake won't like this, but she keeps fighting, and attempts to 'no sell' his finisher by throwing him off. She grips his waist with her arms, plants her left leg firmly into the mat, and pushes to the side with it, attempting to roll them both to the right, putting the two of them on their sides. She even eggs him on with some criticism: “Don't leave my limbs free, Drake!”

Irene wonders why she is acting this way. She should really be more tired than she currently is, with her head and back still pulsing from that piledriver. There's an extra store of energy invigorating her, refusing to let her ease up.

Drake's content to let the pin settle. Hell, no one's kicked out of the Total Eclipse; it's meant to be the nail in the coffin. People tend to stay the Hell down after having two human beings' worth of bodyweight plus a flip's momentum come crashing down on their head. That's if they even remain conscious.

And yet, Irene's being persistent. Is she... part zombie? Is her default mode set in defiance? Drake is flabbergasted, and that's only time that word will ever come up in relation to him! Her push to the side ends them rolling onto their sides, and he immediately pops up to his knees. "God, Irene, don't make me kill you!" She's so picky about her pin! Maybe he should've beaten her up a bit more to make sure she's all compliant, rather than let just a knee to the midsection be the only legitimate hit before going for it.

Either way, she's being Little Miss Demandy-Pants, and Drake's reached his wits' end. Exasperated, the teen shoves her over onto her back and lies over her - again. Only this time, he's face to face with her. His legs attempt to push between her legs in an effort to grapevine them apart, while his hands go for her wrists to restrain them over her head.

Irene gets a little satisfaction out of seeing how annoyed Drake is getting, but her moments of newly gained freedom don't last long. He recovers from the tumble quickly and forces himself back onto her, face to face. This time, he moves to make the pin inescapable, capturing her legs before she can do anything with them and spreading them apart. Irene pushes her hands up and grips his shoulders, unsure of how to escape her predicament. Drake settles the issue for her, taking her advice and seizing her by the wrists to pin her arms against the canvas, leaving her forcibly spread-eagled underneath him.

The girl's heart continues to race for a moment as she wriggles futilely in his grip, thrashing around in an effort to get one of her arms free. She grumbles and grunts, mostly from exertion but also due to pain, as he's got her thigh muscles stretched out with the grapevine hold. He keeps her down, and with all the punishment she's taken in their spar, her struggles quickly fade in intensity. Her breathing is heavy and labored, and sweat drenches her body.

It takes a while for her to calm down, and she still doesn't know quite how to explain how she had been able to keep going after that finisher, however briefly. She looks up at Drake's face and meets his gaze awkwardly, unsure of what to say as she continues to push weakly against his weight.

The girl struggles under him, and Drake presses tighter into her, determined to hold her down this time. He's no longer playing so much as trying to force her down flat on her back. As she writhes, Drake's body grinds into hers - not entirely on purpose, but it does nothing to alleviate the tension growing in him. He brings her hands closer together above her head, keeping her body taut beneath him. His legs spread, forcing her thighs to part further, his hips grinding into her. At this point, there's no question of how worked up he is.

Heated, labored breath beats against her face, his skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat, his heart thunders against her breast. Soon, he stops trying to resist. His hips shift deliberately, drawing his firmness between her legs slowly. His head lowers to press a quick, but firm, forceful kiss to her lips. Once that's broken, his head lifts to cast a challenging look down at her.

As Drake shores up his hold on her, Irene starts to feel a little distressed underneath him. The weight being pressed down onto her hips, her leg muscles being strained as he spreads her out on the mat, and the completely useless position her arms are in as Drake brings her hands together above her head. The latter detail has the side effect of embarrassing her, since her armpits smell terrible after their workout. It's a detail that she would like to hide, but she can't bring her arms down to her sides.

Over time, Irene's distress and other emotions have the effect of finally making her compliant, as she stops moving entirely and falls still underneath him, a tired and defeated expression on her face. She's stunned but impressed at the lengths he's going to in order to make his victory absolute. He even adds some sexual domination to the straight-laced stuff by rubbing his shaft along her curves, and the girl moaned loudly when he seized her lips with his own, working a powerful kiss that leaves her breathless and exasperated.

Now, Drake was waiting, staring confidently down at her. He was probably waiting for an affirmation of her helplessness, and she wouldn't keep it from him any longer. “Sheesh, I can't move a muscle,” she confirms this by twitching in his grip. “I guess I'm sorry for mocking you.”

Irene artfully avoided any statement of direct surrender. She knew there wasn't a chance of her escaping, but Drake had worked very hard for this, and she wanted the both of them to enjoy it a bit before she confirmed her defeat.